Sense and Sensuality
by The Pig Lady
Summary: Modern SS. Mary and Ellie Dashwood are two sisters living in New York City. Both have been unlucky in love, but with the help of friends and family, can they find their way in the world of relationships? NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Ellie Dashwood paced through the kitchen in agony. It was four o'clock on a Monday morning in September, and her impetuous younger sister Mary still had yet to show her face in the apartment since leaving at four o'clock the previous afternoon. All Ellie's mind could think of was worst case scenarios – Mary was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, Mary was being taken advantage of by a serial rapist, Mary was eloping with a guy she met at a bar. It was at times like these that Ellie had to look at her life clearly and she most often realized that all she did was worry about her younger sister – she hadn't written a decent sentence in the three years since Carol Dashwood, her vibrant and eccentric mother, had dropped Mary off with her before taking a five-year long sabbatical in rural South Africa. It had been merely two months after Ellie's novel, "_A Change of Seasons_," had made the _New York Times_ bestseller list, and she'd been on writers' block ever since. It sucked, because without a decent publication in the running, the girls were dead broke, and could barely pay the rent for the Chelsea apartment they currently resided in.

_She must know what this is doing to my nerves_, she thought to herself as she plopped down at the kitchen table. Mary was no stranger to rebellion. Carol had always related to Ellie over the phone Mary's horrifying acts of defiance, but would compensate for it by remarking, "She'll grow out of it when she graduates." Maybe it was this prospect – the prospect that Mary WOULDN'T grow out of it – that frightened Carol into abandoning her two daughters in favor of South African orphans. Either way, Ellie believed it was Carol that had gotten off lucky. Now, she was stuck dealing with Mary's childish misgivings at the age of twenty-five. It was probably the reason she'd vowed to herself that she'd never have children.

Ellie, trying to shake the scenarios from her head, began fumbling with the napkin dispenser in the center of the table, tapping her feet against the linoleum floor with impatience, and tried to remember a time that Mary hadn't been an equivalent to the spawn of the Devil.

The youngest Dashwood girl had changed so much when their father had died. Wendell Dashwood had been the victim of chronic heart failure at the age of forty-five, when Mary was only a high school freshman. Ellie had always remembered her father as an active man with great concern for his health – he had told her countless times when she was younger that he had no intention of leaving them early on in life. Looking back, it seemed that Wendell had forgotten to knock on wood. Still, the medical examiner had said it was no fault of Dashwood's that he had died so early; genetics was the culprit.

After his death, Carol had given up her job with a well-known Miami taxidermist in an effort to have more time to "find herself." Without parental guidance, Mary slipped through the cracks of recognition and had gotten involved with bad people who got her involved with bad things – like drugs and excessive sex. It wasn't enough that Ellie was the only person who was really there for her, because Ellie left for her first year of college that same year. Eventually, Mary's range of freedom was minimized, suiting everybody but Carol, who dropped Mary off with Ellie the first chance that she got.

The persistent ringing of the phone pulled Ellie from her thoughts and reminded her that her sister was still out in the hustle and bustle of New York City somewhere, unaccounted for. Praying that whoever was on the other end was Mary, and not the police, she answered it with deep caution, "Dashwood residence, this is Ellie."

"Ellie? Mark Schaeffer, how are you?" Mark Schaeffer was Ellie's annoying book editor, made even more annoying by the fact that it was four o'clock and he assumed she'd be awake.

"Do you know what time it is?" she asked.

"If I know you at all, Ellie, you've been up writing." Ellie was mixed with the urge to scoff in his face (for he knew better than anyone that she hadn't written anything in nearly three years) and correct him by explaining she was up because her younger sister was being inconsiderate by not calling to explain where she was.

"Mark, I'm sorry, but I have to keep the phone line open . . ."

"Okay, but how do you feel about doing lunch today? Some major developments have been taking place with the company that you deserve to know about, and I'd like to introduce you to a good friend of mine that may take your career to the next level . . . if you can punch out a few decent lines." Ellie rolled her eyes at Mark's dry sense of humor and sarcasm.

"Absolutely," she said. "Does noon at the Holiday Cocktail Lounge work for you? I've got to drop my sister off at her class, but I can come straight after." As the conversation progressed, Ellie became more eager to get off of the phone. She was in desperate need of preparing the lecture she'd use when Mary got in touch.

"Sounds great, Ellie. I look forward to seeing you." There was a click, and Mark hung up.

She briefly tried to think of what possible "company developments" Mark had been referencing. At big firms like Norland Publishing, things changed daily, but not so much that editors found it a requisite to get in touch with clients. Usually, that step was taken only when there had been a hostile takeover and editors wanted to ensure that their clients would follow them wherever they chose to go. Ellie was instantly concerned. Mark Schaeffer had made sure her novel would make the _New York Times_' Bestsellers List, but she had been with Norland long before she had signed with him. She didn't want to be put between a rock and a hard place if Mark's job was in jeopardy. There was no way in hell that she was courageous enough to pull a Dorothy Boyd. It was a matter of common sense.

"Elle, I'm home!" The high-pitched and slurred (probably due to intoxication) voice of her younger sister Mary coming in the front door reminded Ellie that there were more pressing issues to take care of. Knowing Mary would soon appear in the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, as she did every night after a party, Ellie stayed put. "God, I had such a great time tonight!" Mary continued. "Derek Bush – remember him, from my graduate seminar last year? – he threw this awesome party at his parents' place on Wall Street. God, it was fantastic. You really should have been there. You would have had a great time."

Mary appeared in full glory, her face flushed. Ellie had not realized how inappropriate her sister's attire had been when she had left the previous afternoon, but she realized it now – the younger Dashwood girl was dressed in a pink tube top, a dark jean jacket that barely fit over her shoulders, and a miniskirt with knee high black boots.

"You look like a hooker," Ellie commented as her sister retreated to the coffeemaker.

"Thanks, Elle!" Ellie rolled her eyes. Only Mary's drunken alter ego would take this as a compliment. "God, I'm so exhausted. It must be nearly ten o'clock by now."

"You're wrong, Mary," Ellie said, finally standing up, though her hands remained firmly planted on the table. "It's four o'clock. Four o'clock on a Monday – a Monday on which you have your first day of school!" Mary looked at her watch and laughed, genuinely surprised.

"Wow," she muttered.

"Do you even know how worried I have been about you?" Ellie said. "I understand that it's your first priority to ensure that I'm always pissed off at your disrespectful attitude, but could you find it in your heart to be considerate enough to call so I don't automatically assume you've been murdered?"

"God, Ellie, take a chill pill," Mary mumbled as she took a sip of the black coffee she'd just poured into a mug. "I'm fine, obviously. I know how to take care of myself." Ellie didn't doubt this. Personally, if Mary was to ever be approached by someone wishing to physically harm her, the perpetrator might come off worse if a battle ensued. Mary was a beast when it came to self-defense, and was so without a single year of classes.

"That's not the point, Mary," Ellie said, even though it fully was the point. "The point is that your curfew is eleven o'clock. You agreed to it when you moved in here. You broke it tonight, and you didn't even have the decency to call. Do you know how guilty I'd feel if something happened to you? Mom would murder me, and I'm pretty sure I'd die without your company . . ." Ellie could tell that Mary had stopped listening at the mention of their mother. "Mary, please look at me. I'm trying to make a point."

"You've made it," the drunk girl grumbled as she opened the window to allow cool air rush into the kitchen. "You're being so stuffy, Ellie. Just because you want to make sure your life is so completely boring doesn't mean that mine has to be as well. I'm allowed to have some fun."

"You have plenty of fun the rest of the year! You have your first class today, and I doubt you'll be able to concentrate with the combined sleep deprivation and a killer hangover that will no doubt have shown its face by eleven o'clock this morning."

"I might not even go," Mary muttered, sitting down at the table in the seat across from Ellie's. "All of the seniors skip the first day of class anyway."

"Over my dead body," Ellie exclaimed, leaving the room with Mary trailing close behind. "We're paying good money to send you to Barton, and you're going to attend every class you're assigned to. No skipping."

"But everyone else is!" Mary whined like a child. "Didn't you?"

"No, Mary, I didn't." This was a lie. Ellie had skipped her first day as a senior, but she had done so because she was busy writing her novel and trying to get it published, not because she felt like it. Besides, she'd been at college – New York University – on literary scholarship, so she could afford to skip. Reaching the doorway of her bedroom, Ellie turned back to her younger sister and put on her stern voice. "I'm waking you up in five hours, so I suggest you get some rest." She didn't hesitate to slam the door in her sister's face.

* * *

_Hi, you've reached the cell phone of Carol Dashwood. Because the South African desert isn't a habitat to cell phone towers, I can't get to my phone right now, but feel free to leave a message and I'll call when I get a signal. Dankie!_

"Hi, Mom, it's Ellie," the Dashwood girl mumbled into the speaker once she was sure that Mary wasn't still throwing a hissy fit in the hall outside her door. "I just wanted to call and let you know that everything is . . . well, to be honest, nothing's fine. Mary's being a real headache. I don't know if I can deal with this much longer. I just need to talk to someone. Please, call when you get the chance. I really miss you."

She hung up and tumbled back into bed, nestling herself under the covers as if it were winter and twenty degrees outside. She didn't know why she'd felt pathetic enough to call her mother. There was no way Carol would take time out of her undoubtedly busy schedule to call her twenty-five-year-old daughter in a gesture of comfort.

Ellie felt so helpless, and she didn't know where to turn.

* * *

"I tell you, Jessie, she totally blew a gasket!" Mary exclaimed once she'd locked herself in her bedroom for the evening. "She sounds so much like our mother, it's crazy." Jessie Middleton, Mary's best friend, prided herself on being sober enough to respond.

"She's only doing it because she cares about you," she muttered under her breath.

"If she cared about me, she wouldn't baby me." Mary fumbled with the strap of her bra as she pulled it over her head and flung it into the dirty clothes hamper. She was reminded of what had taken place just an hour before, when Derek had taken the liberty of prying the undergarment off for her as they fell into bed together. Surely, Mary knew she wasn't going to see Derek again – they had no classes together at Barton College this year, and it was unlikely that he'd ever call her, as he'd promised. The good ones never called, and Mary knew it best of all. Guys were pigs when it came to woman, and Derek was no exception – although he'd been sweet and innocent the year before, he'd learned the trick of the trade over the summer, and was now a pro when it came to charming and dumping women. Still, Mary couldn't wallow in the sorrow. There'd be another man on another day.

"Maybe you should just listen to her, Mary," Jessie advised. "She's been through all of this before and . . ."

"Ellie has never had this much fun in her life. She's so incredibly boring. All she does is sit in her office all day in front of her laptop, trying to write something so meaningless that no one will remember it twenty years from now, even if it does win the freaking Pulitzer Prize. It just makes it even more pathetic that she hasn't written anything decent since her last novel. It's as if she died right with it."

"Her last one was pretty good," Jessie complimented. "You're just pissed because the chapter about you didn't make you appear like the saint you think you are."

Ellie's first (and only, to this date) novel, _A Change of Seasons, _was an autobiography about the years she spent living in Miami with her mother, father, and sister. She'd been less than complimentary when it came to talking about Mary, labeling the girl as a "misguided teenager that still acts like a child." That sentence was part of the reason why she'd been so reluctant to come and live with her sister, but when her mother abandoned her, she really had no choice. She had to stay somewhere, and Ellie – smart, perfect Ellie that could never fail anybody – was the logical choice. Now, Mary was trying her hardest to make her sister's perfect life as much of a hell-hole as she'd fabricated it to be in the ridiculous book.

"I am a saint," Mary said, pulling her innocent voice with great ease. She walked over to the bedside table and set her alarm for nine o'clock the next morning. "By the way, are we skipping tomorrow? Joanna did invite us to crash at her place for the day."

"I wouldn't spend a day at Joanna Palmer's house even if I wanted to," Jessie gagged. "And besides, I'm really looking forward to going to my classes."

"Okay, Ellie," Mary joked. "I might take her up on her offer. I have Anatomy first thing, and I'm not so sure I'll be able to stand it at eleven-thirty in the morning."

"Oh, Anatomy! I have it too!" Jessie squealed. "Oh, Mary, please come. We can suffer together."

By the end of the conversation, Mary had relented, but only on the condition that they'd ditch early to go and get a Starbucks. With the horrible headache she already had coming on and the tired feeling she'd no doubt experience when she awoke, she'd need all the caffeine she could get her hands on.


	2. Chapter 2

The Science Department auditorium where Mary's Anatomy class was to be held was practically bursting at the seams. She took a seat in the middle of the bleachers, looking frantically around the room for Jessie, hoping she hadn't been manipulated into coming when her best friend wasn't going to show up.

The loud noise – the laughter, the shouting, and the talking – made her head pound even harder than it already was. Ellie had been right – the combined lack of sleep and the killer hangover she was experiencing almost made her want to fling herself off the roof of the highest building on the Barton College campus. Rubbing her temples, she mentally slit her wrists for even waking up that morning, not that she had much of a choice. Ellie was like an annoying rooster – she woke you up at the crack of dawn, even if you could have slept longer.

"Mary, you idiot, get out of bed!" Ellie had exclaimed. "Damn it, it's already ten-thirty. You were supposed to be awake an hour and a half ago." Mary had vaguely remembered throwing her alarm clock against the wall on the opposite side of the room once it had chimed at nine o'clock that morning. Ellie continued nudging her sister towards the edge of the bed with a pillow. "Mary, it's your own fault you chose to stay up until four o'clock last night, now get out of bed!" Forcefully, she pushed her sister one final time – with a shriek, Mary rolled off of the edge of her bed and landed, with a thud, on the hardwood floor.

"Shit, Ellie, what is wrong with you?" she'd demanded, using the edge of the bed to pull herself up off the floor. Her bed had been demolished when she'd rolled off, all of the sheets now lying in a pile next to her on the floor. Ellie crossed her arms over her chest, an annoyed smile displayed on her face.

"Your first class is in an hour," she explained. "Now get moving, or you'll be late."

Mary hadn't been late, and she knew as soon as Ellie had stormed into her bedroom that she wouldn't be, even if she woke up five minutes before they had to leave. Mary had been blessed with the type of looks that didn't require a lot of primping or reinforcing, which is why she very rarely wore makeup. She wore nice clothes that Ellie, with her out-of-date librarian style, didn't always appreciate, often explaining the snide remarks she'd throw in as insults. Mary had learned to ignore them.

Today, she had sunk rather low on the fashion meter. She'd been so inebriated that she'd barely been able to pull on a pair of Levis, her black Converse, and a Barton College sweatshirt. Her hair was still displaying its natural glossiness, but she felt dirty. She didn't know if it was because she was so incredibly exhausted, or because her headache was making it hard to concentrate on the important things – like her all-so-important image.

She heard a squeal from below her, and she temporarily lost consciousness. When she came to only a second later, she noticed Jessie bounding up the stairs towards her, looking as gorgeous as ever.

"I'm so excited!" Jessie muttered excitedly as her thin thighs slid effortlessly by Mary's knees, allowing her to sit in the seat next to her best friend's. "This is great, babe, isn't it?" Mary laughed at her friend's ignorance. Only Jessie would get excited for a college Anatomy class.

Jessie Middleton was a bigger nerd than she'd let on to. She hung out with some of the coolest kids on campus, and did so without complaint from anyone else. Her mother, Flora Middleton, was one of New York City's elite, so her introduction into the reigning popular clique that Mary found herself apart of was a must. She acted like every other popular kid did – she went to parties, she dressed cool, and she drank a lot. However, there was a secret side of her that she didn't let on to – only Mary knew what it was: Jessie was crazy about school. She'd been accepted at Barton on scholarship, and was studying to become a doctor. She studied for all of her course exams, she never skipped school, and she'd probably graduate summa cum laude, if not higher. This Anatomy class was helping Jessie pave her way in the medical field.

Mary, on the other hand, was only taking it to fill up her schedule. Her major, as she'd decided her sophomore year, was Social Psychology. She figured it might be penance for her horrible life if she put her social skills to good use by helping others work out their problems. She'd managed to crank out all of her required courses the first three years, and now was simply trying to fill up hours of the day that would otherwise be spent in the company of her older sister.

"Absolutely wonderful," Mary grumbled sarcastically, wishing to be in bed at the moment.

"Mary! Jessie!" The cry came from the region Jessie had just ventured through, and the slowly emptying crowd parted to reveal a flushed Joanna Palmer. The duo eyed each other and rolled their eyes.

Joanna Palmer was a giant wannabe. She spent her days trying desperately to get flung into the mix of popular kids that Mary and Jessie hung out with, but to no avail. She had true potential – she was gorgeous, and her parents were as rich as hell – but nobody could stand her annoying voice and her clingy personality.

"I'm so happy to see you guys!" she exclaimed, taking the open desk in front of Mary's.

"I'm thrilled as well," Jessie muttered with a hint of sarcasm that went unnoticed by Joanna. "I thought you were skipping all of your classes today." Joanne smiled brightly at the two of them.

"That was until Derek called me and told me that you'd be coming today," she said. A rush of adrenaline shot up Mary's spine at the mention of Derek's name, but she tried not to appear too excited for the sake of embarrassment. Jessie was merciless when it came to teasing Mary about guys. The fact that Derek even KNEW that Mary and Jessie were planning on attending class was an afterthought, but she figured that someone as royal as he was knew everything about everyone he hung out with. It was a privilege of being filthy rich, and Mary one day hoped to relish in it as he could.

Jessie looked over at Mary and rolled her eyes – Mary could practically sense her best friend's annoyance with Joanna, and almost regretted even coming to class. Joanna opened her mouth to speak again when a note came soaring onto Mary's desk, nearly missing and hitting the annoying twenty-one-year-old square in the face. Jessie looked frightened at the fact that Joanna was open to taking the note, and Mary realized that whatever it contained was highly confidential – probably gossip. She struggled to reach it, and managed to grasp it in the nick of time. Joanna looked wounded that she was missing out on whatever Jessie had to say to Mary.

**Are we still on for Starbucks today? MUST HAVE CAFFEINE! P.S. Don't tell J – she'll want to come with us. Gross . . . Love, Jessie.**

Mary looked over at her friend and nodded, simultaneously stuffing the message into an unused pocket of her black leather tote bag.

"Girl in the back!" she heard a voice exclaim. "Do you have something you wish to share with the class?" In the heat of keeping the note from Joanna's eyes, Mary hadn't realized that the professor had entered the room, and was waiting for her to begin class. She smiled innocently.

"No, sir," she said unconvincingly. Luckily for her, the professor ignored it, and looked back down at the attendance sheet in his hands. There were murmurs of conversation from around the classroom, and Mary felt singled out. Jessie was giggling under her breath.

"Okay, attention," the man at the front of the room called. "This is Senior Anatomy. If you're not supposed to be here right now, I suggest you leave immediately, otherwise you're stuck with me for the next hour and a half." 

No one made an effort to move, and he was satisfied. His attempt at dry humor made Mary giggle under her breath, and provoked Jessie to nudge her best friend's arm. Class had started – no more funny business.

"I'm Professor Brandon," he introduced, rounding the large desk to the blackboard. Scrawling his name in chalk, Mary observed that his handwriting was rather neat. "I'm going to try and make this as painless as possible for all of you: I'm a native New Yorker, born and raised in the Bronx. I got my degree in anatomical pathology at Princeton, and later received my bachelor's medical science. I was an intern at Cook County Hospital in Chicago for three years before I returned to New York and began the teaching profession under the study of my mentor, and the president of Barton College, Mr. John Bailey. This is my second year teaching at Barton College, and I look forward to it greatly." He sighed deeply. Mary looked over at Jessie.

"He must be in his forties or something . . ." she murmured. Jessie scoffed.

"He's only been out of college for five years," she explained. "He's not that old. Maybe his early thirties, if he studied for seven years like anybody does when trying to get a medical degree. He can't be more than six or seven years older than us." Mary rolled her eyes. Jessie was always so punctual. He looked way older than early thirties. Even a dozen rows back, Mary could see the hint of gray in his dark black hair. His choice of clothing made him appear like the perfect match for Ellie. It was laughable, really.

"He looks so much older . . ."

"Excuse me, girl in the back," Professor Brandon called out. Jessie looked down at her syllabus, pretending to be deep in thought, despite the fact that she had absolutely nothing to be guilty about. "What's your name?" Mary rolled her eyes. It was the second time she'd been singled out, and class had barely started.

"Mary Dashwood," she said. Professor Brandon smiled at her.

"Well then, Miss Dashwood, perhaps you'd like to read us the fifth paragraph of the syllabus you should have received, had you been paying attention." Mary looked down at the paper that Jessie had inevitably tossed onto her desk. It was a short paragraph.

"'Talking when the professor is talking is strictly prohibited. When a contribution to the class is to be made, the student will raise their hands or submit a query to the professor when class is dismissed.'"

"Now, please be quiet," Brandon murmured. Mary smiled sardonically. It was going to be a great year.

* * *

The girl in the back row – Mary Dashwood, she'd said her name was – reminded Phil Brandon of someone. Good memories flooded into the depths of his mind – memories of things that had happened long before he'd sold the rest of his life to John Bailey on a silver platter. Mary Dashwood was the keeper of a fantastic part of Brandon's soul.

She worked with great ease – obviously, she was going to be a hard person to control in the coming months, for she talked incessantly to the fashionable girl sitting next to her, and the pudgy female in the desk in front of her. There was something about the way that her strawberry blonde hair fell into her deep blue eyes when she was hunched over her desk; something about the way she seemed so confident in herself.

Abruptly, she looked up and found him watching her. Embarrassed, he looked down.

_Damn it, Phil. You can't do this – you can't fall in love with a student, even if she is in her twenties. It's against the rules. You don't break the rules. Last time you broke the rules, you became devoid of a medical internship. Do you want the same thing to happen again? You've got nothing but this. Don't ruin it._

His subconscious, though verbal in its treatment of him, was right. He couldn't screw up his second shot. It simply wasn't allowed. He had to stay focused.

Either way, it was going to be a great year.


	3. Chapter 3

Ellie absolutely hated city traffic. Mostly, she hated tourists. They drove into the city in their cheap airport rental cars, or their expensive Range Rovers with the out-of-state license plates, adding even more congestion to the already crowded streets. Some parked where they weren't supposed to park; others crossed the street when the light was green, nearly getting flattened by reckless drivers in a hurry to get to work. Ellie was no exception to this: on more than one occasion, she'd gotten cussed out by a pedestrian who she'd almost killed.

It was because of said city traffic that Ellie was almost an hour later for her lunch meeting with Mark Schaeffer – some idiot up ahead of her had driven a red light, causing his immediate detainment by a city cop and a ten block long traffic jam that Ellie had hoped to avoid.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she muttered to her editor, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek. He swooned with delight – it was common knowledge to every employee at Norland Publishing that, despite their mutual agreement that the relationship would be kept strictly platonic and professional, Mark harbored such a crush for Ellie that he'd divorce his wife in an instant if the twenty-five-year-old authoress spoke the word.

"It's no problem at all," he said, pulling out her seat so she could sit down. "It's given me and Eddie some time to get reacquainted." It was now that Ellie first noticed the handsome man occupying the third seat at the table. His face possessed an innocence that Ellie hadn't seen since Mary was five years old. His dark brown hair was arranged messily on top of his head, and, unlike Mark, he had opted for clothes of comfort, not professionalism. Ellie smiled at the stranger and held out her hand for him to shake, instantly charmed.

"Ellie Dashwood," she said, introducing herself.

"Eddie Ferrell," he responded with a bright smile, "and may I just say what an honor it is to meet you. The way that Mark talks about you, it's obvious you're his golden author. And your novel – it was great." Ellie could feel herself blushing, and Mark seemed satisfied.

"Eddie is a publicist that Norland just hired," Mark explained, "and I've known him since our years at Harvard University, working on the student newspaper." Ellie rolled her eyes sarcastically. Mark never hesitated to throw out his Ivy League credentials – observing the red tint to Eddie's cheeks, Ellie could successful guess that the handsome publicist was more modest about his achievements.

"In that case, welcome to the team," she said. "Norland is a great place. I love being a part of it." Eddie seemed to glow at Ellie's gesture of kindness.

"Mark has been trying to get me to come and work there since our college graduation. He said it'd be like old times." Mark nodded, seemingly proud that such words had come out of his mouth in the past.

"So, you finally relented?"

"More or less," Eddie shrugged, reaching for his glass of water. "I suppose I had to give in when he came to me, begging for me to come and help him get on of his best authors back on her feet." He smiled slyly. "I assume he means you." Ellie glared at her editor, who responded by summoning the waiter so they could order.

An hour later, they were in the middle of a pleasant lunch. Ellie had learned all there was to learn about Eddie (he was the youngest of three children – his older brother, Bob, was the CEO of a major insurance agency based in Manhattan, and his sister, Michele, had married young and was now a "mild-mannered" housewife living in LA; he had graduated valedictorian from his native Jersey high school, and had gone to Harvard, where he'd met Mark; and his mother wanted him to be a lawyer, though he was more interested in achieving success as a literary magnate); and Eddie had learned all there was to know about her.

But the friendly chat couldn't go on forever. Ellie had to know the nature of Mark's insistence that they meet – the perfect opportunity to grill him for info came when Eddie excused himself to go to the bathroom.

"So, Mark, what's up?" she asked. "You couldn't have asked me to come here just to introduce me to your incredibly handsome best friend." He smiled guiltily and looked back down at his dinner roll, which he was pulling apart nervously.

"Eddie's great, isn't he? You two seem to be getting along so well . . ."

"Spill the beans, Mark Schaeffer, or I'll tell your wife about that time on our national book tour when you got drunk and told me you loved me." She crossed her arms over her chest haughtily, glad to have the power of blackmail on her side.

His friendly smile fell. "You wouldn't dare." She raised her eyebrows in an expression that could only mean one thing: 'Try me.' "Fine," he muttered reluctantly, leaning forward and motioning her in towards him. Her previous worries about the nature of the conversation were reinforced, as she realized that Mark would never do something so secretive unless what he was about to say could change the fates. He sighed deeply.

"Ellie, I know how hard it's been for you lately," he mumbled, talking softly so that others around them couldn't hear what he was saying, "especially with Mary and making sure she doesn't screw up her life, but you have to understand that the company is . . . concerned." She pulled away, her posture straightening.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean, they're concerned?"

"They're losing money, Elle," he explained. "They invested quite a bit of it in that second book you promised to write, but three years later, they haven't seen a page of it." He grasped her hand, but she pulled it away instantly, furious. "They wanted me to let you go."

"What?" She was shocked. "They wanted to do . . . what?" She couldn't even say it.

"Terminate your relationship with Norland." He sighed deeply. "But don't worry, I convinced them to give you a few more months. That's why I've brought Eddie down here – not only will he help to improve your public image, but because he has experience in the writing field, I thought he could give you a few ideas." She shook her head and stood up, slamming her fists on the table.

"If I'm going to write something, it's going to be something that I'm passionate about. Look, I'm sure Eddie has some wonderful ideas, but it wouldn't seem right – writing for a paycheck, not because it's my passion." She grabbed her coat from where it lay, draped over the back of her chair, and resisted that urge to take a swing at Mark's head with her bag. She knew that none of this had been his idea, but that didn't stop her from wanting to use him as the scapegoat for her hostility.

"I've got to go home and start writing to save my career," she continued. "Tell Eddie it was nice meeting him." She turned to leave but remembered something, and spun back around. "And God forbid you should ever call me at four o'clock in the morning again, I will make your life miserable."

Then she left.

* * *

There was something about her. He'd never really met someone like her – someone with so much passion for her work, and with so much fire in her heart. Eddie Ferrell knew at the start of their conversation that Ellie Dashwood was someone he could quickly grow to love – yet, it was morally forbidden. The way that Mark – his best friend – looked at her was proof enough that Ellie was off-limits, despite the fact that said best friend was married. Eddie was not a morally indecent person, and this was like the rules of high school all over again: Never fall for your best friend's girl. And Ellie was practically Mark's girl.

Yet, he couldn't stop picturing her face in his head. He leaned up against the cool metallic stall door, sighing deeply. He had never fallen for a girl in so short a time before, and he wasn't so sure he liked it. That uncomfortable feeling in his gut, the hard beating of his heart, the lightheadedness – it was like a hangover, only worse.

"Ed? Are you in here?" Mark's voice wasn't soothing at all – in fact, it was mere annoyance. Sighing deeply, Eddie ran his hands through his hair, tucked one hand into his jean pocket, and opened the stall door. Mark stood at the sink, splashing his face with cold water from the faucet.

"What's wrong?" Eddie asked, perplexed, as he pumped sweet-smelling soap onto his hands.

"I broke the news to Ellie," he explained, "and she didn't take it too well. As a matter of fact, I should probably feel very lucky that I'm alive right now. If not for the prospect of life without parole, Ellie might have killed me!" Eddie snickered, but Mark wasn't laughing. "Below the belt, Ed," he said sarcastically, wiping his hands free of any excess moisture. "Try and feel a little compassion."

"Well, how'd you expect her to take it?"

"I didn't think she'd try and murder me!" Eddie rolled his eyes, remembering his initial opinion of Mark when they'd first met at Harvard: _He'd do well in the Drama Department._

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Eddie murmured. Mark scoffed and looked up from the sink, water droplets dangling off his poorly-shaven chin.

"Oh, it was _that_ bad," he insisted, exasperated.

"Then give her a few days to calm down before talking to her again. It's not like she was actually fired. They were just . . . threatening it." He knew he was being unconvincing, but he couldn't really help it. He had been in Ellie's position before, and knowing that you'd almost been given the boot wasn't that great either, even if you had been granted a reprieve.

"Like hell can I talk to her," Mark exclaimed dramatically. He turned to reach for the rack of towel paper, but spun back to face Eddie abruptly, his eyes gleaming with the glow of a brilliant (and, if Eddie knew Mark at all, ridiculous) idea. "What if you talked to her?" he suggested.

"No," Eddie shot back quickly, throwing his hands up into the air. "I'm not getting involved."

"Oh, come on, Ed!" Mark set his hands on his friend's shoulders, leering at him with his large blue eyes. "She might not be so quick to bite your head off."

"No." Mark sighed deeply.

"Ed, do you remember that time at the Harvard student newspaper when you had a huge test the day of a deadline? Do you remember how you were going to miss your deadline because you had to study?" Eddie rolled his eyes, realizing what Mark was doing. "Do you remember how I wrote your story for you so you could do the review sheets?"

"Yes."

"I'd say you owed me one." He flashed Eddie a sardonic smile and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for his friend's response. Guilt was a dirty little thing, and Mark was, unfortunately, loving every minute of it.

* * *

Ellie dropped her bag on the white wood bench in the foyer and stormed into the kitchen, an aura of anger about her. Who did Kent Norland think he was, trying to terminate her relationship with the company because he'd lost a few bucks in the long run? And who did Mark Schaeffer think he was, pressuring her to write to save her job? He should know better than anyone, as a retired newspaper staffer, that creativity wasn't like a freaking faucet that you could turn on whenever you wanted to! As if the blank Microsoft Word Document on her laptop wasn't proof enough, now, she wouldn't be able to write anything remotely decent. She didn't work well under extreme pressure.

A glass of herbal tea and an episode of _Crossing Jordan_ settled her nerves just enough (after all, there's nothing more calming than watching Jill Hennessy cut up dead people) to answer the door when the bell rang. Surprisingly, it was the one person she never thought she'd see again: Eddie Ferrell. When he saw her, he put on a wounded smile.

"You didn't say goodbye." Ellie could tell he was trying to make her laugh, but in her present state of mind, the ruse wasn't working.

"How did you find out where I live?" she asked.

"Your handsome, apologetic book editor gave the address to me."

"You mean the traitor?"

"If that's how you get your kicks." Ellie walked away, leaving Eddie behind to close the front door.

"So, did the asshole send you over here to apologize?" she called to him as she sauntered off in the direction of the living room. Eddie waited in the foyer, unsure of whether or not she'd be coming back, or whether she wanted him to follow her.

"No," he lied. Making up his mind, he gravitated in the direction of Ellie's voice, admiring the apartment's clutter and charm along the way. "But if it helps, he really does feel horrible."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she sneered.

"He actually wants me to give you . . ."

"Some ideas," she finished. "Yeah, thanks, but I can write my own material." Eddie smiled. Ellie's snide remarks were part of what made her so attractive. Mark had told him that she was hard to get along with if you didn't know her well, and he was starting to get a taste of the mood she might be in if she didn't find him so damn adorable.

"Well, that's good." Spotting the Sony Vaio open on the coffee table next to the _Hostel _DVD case, his eyes widened and a proud smile crept onto his face. "Oh, you've already started writing. Brilliant."

Ellie flashed him a sardonic smile.

"May I see?" he asked, sitting down on the couch next to her. She shielded the screen for a split second, but finally relented and passed the computer to him. He looked down.

**I SUCK.**

"Interesting," Eddie mumbled. "I assume it's a tragic tale of doubt and low self-esteem. It's a bit of a cliché, once you think about it, but I suppose it could be solid with an original plot line."

"Shut up," Ellie joked, socking him in the arm as she took the computer back from him.

"I'm only kidding," he mumbled. "But seriously, Ellie, if you keep telling yourself that you suck, you'll never will yourself to write anything good. Doubt is everybody's worst enemy, and that goes double for artistic people like us." Ellie was watching him closely, rather dumbfounded. After a split second of silence passed, she coughed and looked away.

"Well, I've formulated a title," she said.

"Let's hear it." Ellie was surprised to see that he looked genuinely interested.

"The Little Publicist That Became a Psychoanalyst." Eddie snorted, and Ellie was glad to see that she hadn't injured his dignity in any way.

"Unique." He shrugged. "Mark really is sorry about what happened. The company told him to tell you as a warning, and he didn't really want to . . ."

"I know I shouldn't be so hard on him because none of this was his idea. Still, I just wish he wouldn't have been so blunt with me about it. Now, I feel even more pressured than before." She looked directly at Eddie with a forlorn expression. "Have you ever thought that maybe sometimes, it's worse knowing?" Eddie nodded.

His thoughts exactly.

* * *

**_Oy vey! Let's see some more reviews, okay? Special shoutout to followthestory, who is the first (and only) person to review this story so far -- thanks for the praises!_**

**_As you can tell, I've changed some aspects of this story. No, I will not be including the character of Margaret Dashwood (sister three) in this story. And because I'm trying to follow the obvious plotlines of the original story, Phil Brandon does appear to be a bit of a pedophile right now. I swear though, it won't stay creepy for the entire story -- it'll get really sweet at the end._**

**_I don't know if my updates are going to stay this frequent forever -- this chapter came to me via flashes of brilliance in my Physical Science class, and I wanted to post it. Sorry if it seems boring right now -- it'll get better, I promise!_**

**_Review! -The Pig Lady_**


	4. Chapter 4

Mary Dashwood was disgusted

Mary Dashwood was disgusted. Oh, not by anything NORMAL people would be disgusted by. No, Mary was disgusted because her sister was in love, and she didn't even know it.

It had been nearly three weeks since Eddie Ferrell had come to New York City, and he'd spent over half that time at their Chelsea apartment. His excuse was that he was helping Ellie with her novel (which had been progressing at a remarkable rate since his arrival, which, in Mary's mind, was rather ironic considering), but she knew he really just wanted to be with her sister. Either that, or he enjoyed watching Ellie embarrass the shit out of herself when she tried to flirt with him.

Love, in Mary's mind, was a sacrament. Only the wise and blissfully happy people could find time to fall in love. People like Ellie could only analyze the hell out of it, trying to find fault in every aspect of something perfect. People like Mary jumped on it without hesitation. Love was too precious and rare to be denied, so she valued it and looked for it wherever she could. Ellie wasn't smart enough to do this, which ultimately led Mary to recognize that absolutely nothing would come of the blossoming friendship between her and Eddie, even if he was over to dinner every single night of the week.

"Maybe Eddie should just rent a room here," Mary suggested one night as she set the kitchen table for two that evening. She had made plans at Jessie's so Ellie and Eddie could be alone, although she didn't know why. Nothing would come of it.

"Don't be silly, Mary," Ellie grumbled. She stood at the stove, cooking.

"He spends enough time here, anyway. Just think – he'd see you more often, and he wouldn't have to worry about paying those heinous taxi fares to get over here."

"Would you be quiet?" Ellie exclaimed, tossing an uncooked roll at her sister, who scampered out of the room, cursing under her breath.

Although Mary found Ellie's ignorance anything but bliss, she was still happy to see her sister so . . . upbeat. Even now, she could hear one of Idina Menzel's non-Broadway melodies filtering through the crack underneath the kitchen door. It was surprisingly comforting, even if it was off-key.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Ellie so happy. Maybe it was when they were both younger, and their father had taught them how to ride a bicycle without training wheels in the parking lot of his accounting firm. Or maybe it had been when one of her editorials had been published in the middle school newspaper (meager, but still exciting for a sixth grader). Maybe it was when she'd had at her first kiss at her freshman Homecoming, which she'd told Mary all about later. Mary smiled at the memory of her being jealous when Ellie had tip-toed into her bedroom at one o'clock in the morning, nudging her awake just to tell her all about it. Mary had only been a fifth grader at that time, but she had always been the more attractive one. She'd always believed that she'd have gotten her first kiss by the time Ellie did.

Now that she thought about it, any time before the death of their father would qualify as a happy time. All of Ellie's natural fun had drained out of her after that, and she'd become unconvinced of her own beauty, so others were unconvinced as well. She hadn't held a steady boyfriend since her junior year of high school, and Mary thought she and Eddie deserved each other (if only Ellie could realize it). They were both lost causes, Ellie more so than Ed, whose only flaw was his lacking refusal skills (this conclusion brought on by his own opinion of himself, not Mary's).

When Mary had told Jessie of this the week before, all Jessie could do was stare in awe at her best friend, who had willingly shared her opinion of the budding romance before Anatomy class one day.

"You think Ellie deserves him?" Jessie had questioned, adding extra emphasis to the word "deserves."

"Well, I guess," Mary had said, unsure of what Jessie was uneasy about. "You know, they really are perfect for each other." Jessie had shrugged and had eyed the textbook lying in front of her.

"Yes, but I thought it was your intention to wish only bad things upon her! Why the sudden change of heart?" Mary had to think about this for a second. Jessie made a clear point. It had been less than two weeks before that she'd been complaining to her friend about Ellie's uptight reign of power over her, and how much she hated being stuck in without any fun just because her sister was. Only now, Ellie was finally having some fun, and maybe Mary was having fun watching Ellie have fun. It was a feeling so foreign to her that she couldn't put it in words.

"I'm not sure," was her simple response before she turned away to pay attention to Professor Brandon, who once again had his eyes on her.

Now that Mary was thinking about it deeply, maybe she'd been too hard on Ellie about the book. What had been written in the novel was a pain of the heart fueled by the remembrance of their father's death hanging over her head. Mary had made mistakes in the aftermath of the tragedy, but no one had fully condemned her for it (except maybe Carol Dashwood, who'd dropped her daughter off first chance). Didn't Ellie deserve the same second chances, the same benefit of the doubt?

At least now, Ellie was making attempts to rectify her actions. Although she liked to make Mary believe they'd been forced on each other, it was always a possibility that Ellie was helping out of the goodness of her heart as penance for what she'd written.

Aroused from her deep trance by the ringing of the phone, she dizzily ran to answer the foyer extension before Ellie could pick it up in the kitchen. If it was Eddie (as it usually was these days), she wanted to be able to poke some innocent fun at the man before she had to vacate the apartment for the evening.

"Dashwood residence, this is Mary."

"Mary, goddamn it, is that really you? What the hell are you answering the phone like that for?" Mary could feel her creamy brown eyes inflating to an explosive size. It was her absentee mother.

"I . . . oh, uh . . . hi, Mom."

"How've you been, Mare?" Carol demanded to know. "I don't suppose you've been too much trouble for your older sister, have you?"

"Trying not to be." Mary could feel herself shouting over the noise on her mother's end. "Mom, where the hell are you right now?"

"Grand Central!" Mary felt herself laughing in disbelief.

"Oh, shit, this connection must really suck, Mom. I could've sworn you said . . ."

"Grand Central Station!" Carol repeated for clarification. Mary was stunned into silence for a span of about five seconds. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it.

"In New York?"

"Where else? Listen, I got Elle's pathetic phone call a few weeks ago and I hopped the soonest flight out of there. Still, when you're in the middle of the African Plains, that's easier said than done . . ." She faded off for a split second, and Mary was tempted to hang up.

What had been in Ellie's phone call that had prompted their mother to return to the States? Mary was slowly growing upset. Carol's return only triggered the memory of the day that woman (who everyone had called unfit for motherhood from the very beginning) had abandoned her nineteen-year-old daughter on the doorstep of her sister's Manhattan apartment. That had been the day that Mary had vowed off of family for the rest of her life.

"But the point is, I'm here now, and I need you to come and get me." Mary was snapped back to attention, realizing she'd tuned her mother out as she'd explained the difficulty behind landing decent means of air travel in the desert.

"Mom, we have company," Mary lied (although they were going to have company, when Eddie arrived).

"Well, then, give me directions to your place. I suck on safari, but with proper street signs, I could find my way around pretty decently." She was trying to crack a joke, but Mary didn't find it funny at all.

"I'd have to check with Ellie," Mary grumbled. "Is there any way I can reach you?" Truthfully, Mary had no intention of checking with Ellie if she was able to get off of the phone. She was going to let it ride, and maybe if she was lucky, Carol would go back to Africa where she truly wanted to be.

"What's to check?" Carol exclaimed, disregarding the question. "I'm your mother!"

_Not a very good one_, Mary was tempted to say. "Look, Mom, it's Elle's apartment and, like I said, we have company." Mary thought the music in the background would justify the excuse.

"Bullshit, Mary Ann Dashwood," Carol grumbled. "Ellie called begging for my help. I don't think she'd mind. I won't interrupt your party, I promise. You won't even know I'm there." Mary snorted. Carol Dashwood wasn't living unless she found a way to interrupt something, whether it was a party or Ellie's high school graduation.

"Can you hold on a second?" Mary set the phone on the table before her mother could answer and hurried into the kitchen, where Elle was still cooking.

"Problem," she declared.

"You're telling me!" Ellie exclaimed. "I burnt the dinner rolls." She held out the basket of charred bread for extra emphasis. "Now what am I going to do? Serve toast?"

"Mom's on the phone," Mary explained. Ellie didn't look that surprised, and that was when Mary remembered that Elle had initiated the contact and was probably expecting a call in return. "She's at Grand Central," she finished. It was the last statement that got Ellie's attention straight away. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting a visit, but it was what she'd gotten.

"In New York?"

"Where else?" Mary asked comically, echoing her previous conversation with her mother. "She wants directions to the apartment. I didn't know if you'd want me to give them to her or not."

"She flew all the way from Africa?"

"I guess so." Mary hadn't really been listening to the details of her mother's travels, but she assumed her mother hadn't ridden on a Greenpeace whale all the way there (although, with her mother, she'd learned early on to expect the unexpected, so it was totally possible).

"Why?" Mary could tell Ellie was hesitant about opening her apartment (and their lives) to the woman who'd abandoned them nearly three years before.

"Apparently, you called her."

"Yeah, but that was three weeks ago!" Ellie exclaimed, letting her emotions flood out of her. "God, I can't do this right now. Eddie will be here soon." She looked up at the clock, which read that it was quarter to six. "Take my car, and go get her, but for God's sakes, don't bring her here."

"Where do you suggest I take her?" Mary was annoyed. She could practically see her plans with Jessie flying right out the window and landing on the street below.

"A hotel."

"She's not going to like that."

"What can she do about it? It's my house, not hers."

Mary was surprised by Ellie's blunt disapproval of their mother's return. Maybe it had something to do with Eddie's sudden entrance into their lives, and Ellie didn't like the idea of Carol Dashwood prying around in her personal business where he was concerned. Maybe it was the suddenness – the imposition it put on her evening – that she disliked. Either way, her tense mood was key enough that Ellie – a little mother's girl at heart – wasn't in the least bit happy about Carol Dashwood's coming to town.

Still, her idea was fine with Mary. The youngest Dashwood didn't revel in the idea of their mother hanging around the already cramped apartment.

Returning to the foyer phone, Mary was surprised to hear her mother babbling away on the other end, as if Mary had never walked away.

"Mom," she exclaimed, nearly shouting to be heard over her mother's voice, "where exactly are you?"

**_A/N: Review please! Sorry it took a little while to update . . . unfortunately, my computer privileges have been horrifically seized by my parents. Look forward to seeing the comments!_**


	5. Chapter 5

Carol Dashwood stood on the sidewalk outside Grand Central Station, clutching her leopard-print carry-on to her chest while secretly wishing she had a coat. Fall in New York City was completely different from fall in South Africa, and she knew that after nearly three years, the weather change would take some getting used to.

Another thing that would take some getting used to was Mary's attitude. Ellie's biannual phone calls made it clear that the only thing Mary was good at, besides landing lustful men, was acting out. Her tone on the phone fifteen minutes before had told Carol all she needed to know. Now, she was willing to bet that most of Mary's irresponsibility was due in part to Carol's sudden departure from her life. She'd dwelled on this theory for the entire time she'd been gone, and had always hoped it wasn't true.

Clearly, it was.

Carol didn't know why she'd left. The parents in Miami had always said that as soon as all of the kids were gone from their lives and out of the house, they were to retire, collect a huge pension check, and move to some exotic place in the Caribbean; though she personally hadn't taken any of it to heart. Who could abandon their kids so easily, with absolutely no sense of guilt?

But after Wendell's death, Carol became a widow. As soon as the title stuck, she felt like her mother, and she absolutely hated it. Her mother was an old woman who despised all people and lived in retirement home in southeastern Michigan that reeked strongly of urine. God forbid Carol was supposed to feel that old at forty-nine. She thought that living in the moment would make her feel young again, and it worked. She'd thrown all her cares away – including those concerning her two daughters – and had quit her job, joined a small welfare group, and began raking in community service hours she'd never had before.

Ellie had moved out shortly after Wendell's death, and Carol was saddled with the responsibility of caring for a despondent Mary. His death had hit home for both of them, but Mary more so – she'd never been privileged enough to share any experiences with Wendell as she grew older, as Ellie had. Her prom date didn't have to worry about an interrogation, and she'd lost an internship possibility with his office now that it had been placed under new management. Everything Ellie had been given were things Mary had been deprived of.

Evidently, this killed her. As if Ellie's intelligence wasn't enough to make anyone feel inferior to her, Mary was the youngest. She got all of the leftovers; everything Elle didn't want. So, she'd acted out. She made horrible choices, and Carol could only help pick up the pieces. Eventually, that became too tiring, so when Mary graduated, she dumped her in New York with Ellie (because she'd agreed to go to Barton College) and hopped the first plane to Africa without looking back.

But then, Elle's phone call had come, transferred to the office switchboard set in the apartment building she'd been renting for three years, but was only living in for half of the time. She'd been blasted back to that previous feeling of age and helplessness by the own forlorn tone in her twenty-five-year-old daughter's voice, and it was because of that feeling that it took her nearly a week to pull herself out of the slum she'd found herself in and make an effort to do something.

So, she'd hopped the first plane to some Podunk town in Canada, where she'd boarded a train to New York City. Now, she was waiting for her allegedly spurned youngest daughter to come and get her. Carol feared that maybe Mary wouldn't come, but less than two seconds later, she saw the sandy-haired young woman bounding towards her with the utmost grace, poise, and delicacy.

"Mary, is that really you?" she questioned, hardly believing that the girl, who'd been such a mess three years before, could look so incredibly . . . beautiful.

"Unfortunately," Mary murmured, looking down at her black weave boots almost shyly. It was a social state that Carol had never seen her daughter in before, just further proof of everything that had changed.

"Oh, stop being so modest and give me a hug!" Carol held out her arms in a welcoming embrace and moved closer to her daughter, who backed away. Carol could practically feel her heart splitting open with the pain of rejection.

"Listen, we have company," Mary explained, "so Elle told me to take you to the Marriott."

"I flew all the way from Africa to see you and you're throwing me in a hotel?" Carol was dumbfounded. Mary could tell, and instantly jumped to the rescue, hoping to salvage the conversation before Carol caused an embarrassing public display that would ultimately make her the news of Manhattan.

"Her apartment is really small," she explained, "and we don't have any extra bedrooms. You'll be much more comfortable at a hotel, believe me."

"I've lived in a tent on the African Plains for three years," Carol exclaimed proudly. "Clutter doesn't matter to me at all. Put me on the living room couch." She smiled at her daughter, whose own smile was faltering with every sentence. "Elle lives in Chelsea, right?" Mary nodded, somewhat dazed, and Carol threw her arms out in the direction the car, forcing a mock bow. "Lead the way."

* * *

Eddie arrived right on time, and Ellie was pleased. He pecked her on the cheek when she answered the door, which had become their customary greeting the past three weeks. Although Ellie was pleased by the exchange, her mother's sudden appearance had put a hole in her happiness.

"Are you all right?" Eddie asked midway through dinner. Ellie hadn't realized that she had been drifting off, but leave it to Eddie Ferrell to call her on it.

"Not really," she muttered under her breath. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and eyed her curiously.

"Does it have to do with the book?" he wondered aloud. Ellie didn't know if she should be offended that he automatically assumed the only problems she'd ever entertain in her life would have to do with whatever book she was working on at the moment. She shook her head.

"No," she repeated for clarification. "It's actually . . ." Spotting her car pull into the narrow parking spot in front of the building through the window, Ellie wondered why Mary had returned home so soon. She'd only left twenty minutes before, and she was so sure that her sister wouldn't be home after dropping Carol off at the Marriott. Didn't she have plans with Jessie Middleton?

And then the passenger door opened.

"It's actually what?" Eddie asked, eying her with a worried expression on her face. Ellie, however, ignored this query, focusing on the ungodly sight in the window. Her larynx had completely lost its function, it seemed, at the sight of Carol Dashwood stepping out of her car.

* * *

"It's such a nice neighborhood," Carol cooed, admiring the area surrounding Ellie's building. "I didn't know there was grass in New York City." Mary wasn't listening – because Mary had caught sight of Ellie's face in the window one floor above them, and it was not a happy expression that she was broadcasting.

Mary Dashwood was a dead woman.

"What's the number?" Carol asked, stalking up the front walk as if she had lived in the building for the duration of her life.

"2B . . ." Mary managed to croak out.

"I'm quite surprised that Ellie could afford to live in such a pleasant area of the city. Truthfully, dearest, I didn't think her book was all that great." Mary snorted.

"She's writing a second one, actually," she explained.

"Oh, is that so?" Carol didn't sound very interested, so Mary dropped the subject immediately.

All the way up to the apartment, Carol found something about the interior design to be completely delighted with – the moldings, the trim, the color of the walls, the expansive windows, and the cute little wicker couches that sat at each end of the hall, paid for by the building association. Surely, Carol found all of this to be heaven on earth, having spent less than half a decade in a crummy old tent, sleeping on a blanket rolled out over the ground, with nothing else protecting her body from the cold, hard earth.

The door to the 2B swung open before the women could even finish trekking up the stairs, and Ellie was out in the hallway as quickly as possible. Clearly, she didn't want Eddie to know that they had another guest.

"Mother?" Ellie demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"Mary told me that you were going to try and throw me in a hotel. A hotel, Ellie, honestly? It's as if you have no class whatsoever." She rolled her eyes. "She told me that it was because the apartment was small, and that there wasn't any room for me. But really, Ellie, I don't mind sleeping on the couch." Noticing that Ellie had positioned herself craftily in front of the door so she couldn't enter, she frowned. "By George, what is wrong with you two?" She had managed to shove Ellie aside and was prepared to open the front door when Eddie called,

"Ellie, is everything all right out there?"

Carol spun around, satisfied. Mary felt a strong pinch of her thigh, no doubt administered by Ellie, and she hobbled up and down in pain as Ellie stepped forward, placing her hands on her mother's shoulders.

"Mom, please."

"Who is he? A friend, perhaps? Maybe a colleague?" She turned to her youngest daughter, who was wincing as she rubbed her leg. "Mary, you didn't tell me. What, do I have both of my daughters ganging up on me, refusing to tell me anything about their lives? Honestly, girls, it's saddening." She smiled, and pushed the door open. Eddie stood in the foyer, shocked at the entrance of the unfamiliar woman. Ellie shook her head, groaning deeply as she shot daggers at Mary with her eyes.

"Hello," Carol chimed in before Ellie could say anything. "I'm Carol Dashwood, Ellie's mother." It took a moment to register, but Eddie was soon thrusting his hand at her, smiling brightly.

"Yes, of course! She's told me all about you. Excuse me, but I thought you were in Africa?"

"Yes, well, I decided to come home a little early," she explained, delighted. She snuck a glance at Ellie, who was shaking her head in complete embarrassment. Satisfied, she turned back to face Eddie. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I didn't catch your name . . .?"

"Eddie Ferrell," he said. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She let out a deep sigh and looked back at Mary, who appeared unaffected by the situation – however, Ellie was deeply upset. She was angry at her mother for barging in on them after she'd sworn not to; she was upset with her sister, who undoubtedly realized that, with Carol in town, Eddie's presence in their apartment would soon be scarce; and upset with herself, for not having the decency to tell her mother how she really felt about her visit. "Do you mind pointing me in the direction of the little girls' room? I haven't taken a leak since I left Canada, and those bathrooms could hardly be called sanitary. I swear, more germs have settled on those walls than they have on . . ."

"Down the hall, on your right!" Ellie screamed, interrupting her mother before that explicit sentence could be finished. Eddie, sensing the discomfort level, busied himself with untangling his scarf from the hook, and Mary adjusted her hold on Carol's luggage.

"Thanks, babe," Carol cooed, and disappeared through the arch. Ellie turned back to her sister.

"What the hell is she doing here?" she demanded to know. "I thought I told you to take her to a hotel!" Mary bit her lip nervously.

"I couldn't very well just tell her that we didn't want her here!" Ellie groaned.

"Why the hell not? Why the hell did you choose today of all days to minimize your level of self-expression? Jesus Christ, Mary, what are we going to do?" Eddie coughed, trying to get their attention.

"Perhaps I should leave . . ."

"No, you stay!" Ellie ordered. Taken aback by her forceful tone of voice, he slumped down onto the bench and watched the sisters participate in a back and forth argument over the status of their mother's sleeping arrangements. Ellie broached the idea of drugging Carol while she was sleeping and dumping her in the Hudson River. Mary proposed throwing her out on the street. It was Eddie that finally intervened.

"It's really mean, the way you guys talk about your mother like this," he exclaimed. "I think you should let her stay." Ellie thought this was rather hypocritical of him, considering how much he complained about his own mother, but didn't feel up to telling him off about it.

"She'll suck the life out of us while she's here." He didn't know whether to glare or laugh. He had a lot of experience with life-sucking mothers, and he knew he didn't need to repeat it. He crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of impartiality. Ellie, sensing his disapproval of their public display of bashing their mother, groaned deeply and looked back at Mary.

"She stays."

* * *

**_A/N: Review! - The Pig Lady_**


	6. Chapter 6

There was a jittery, "on-the-brink-of-vomiting" feeling brewing in Eddie's stomach, and it wasn't a side effect of any late nights out with Mark and Captain Morgan. No, this was a horrible, "beyond any recognition" feeling that spewed from the phone conversation he had just ended. He took a deep breath, willing himself to forget the nasally voice that belonged to his pernicious older sister.

Michele Ferrell had been a torture to live with as a child, and she was even more of a torture now that she was an adult and had the weight of the world at her feet. Eddie was fairly lucky that his work kept him out of contact for long periods of time (at least, that's what he'd tell Michele), but every couple of months, he'd find himself graced with one of those calls that almost provoked him to throw his unfeeling ass off of the Allen Building in Times Square, where Norland Publishing was located.

Tonight had been no exception. It was rare that Michele's calls had any real purpose. Usually, all she'd really want to do was talk about herself. Judging by the state of her checking account, she obviously believed that she had a lot to talk about.

Michele had married straight out of university to sixty-three-year-old Blake Bethany, a retired Hollywood director that had mentored the likes of Spielberg and Scorsese (although he's been snubbed countless times by the Academy). The Ferrell matriarch had been delighted at the prospect of her daughter marrying so young, and so rich (despite the fact that dear Mr. Bethany was old enough to be _her_ husband). Eddie thought that the entire situation was sickening to the stomach. Still, no one listened to him about matters of life and love, so for the past ten years, Michele and Blake had lived in J. Howard Marshall-Anna Nicole Smith wedded bliss.

But surprisingly, Michele's call tonight had great purpose indeed.

"Norland Publishing, Mr. Ferrell's line," chimed Eddie's eager secretary, a bleach blonde twenty-one year-old named Kelly Ann.

"I'd like to speak to Mr. Ferrell, please."

"Who, may I ask, is calling?"

"Just tell him that it's his absolutely gorgeous older sister." Kelly Ann punched the call through to Eddie's office where he sat, unaware that his life was (theoretically) about to end.

"Mr. Ferrell, phone call for you." Kelly Ann neglected to provide the commentary as her voice rang out from the intercom box on the corner of Eddie's desk. Annoyed by the interruption, he picked up the phone and, in an exasperated tone of voice, grumbled, "Hello?"

"Is that any way to speak to your sister?" Michele's voice was incredibly high-pitched, suggesting that she was calling from a cell phone with crummy reception. The entire technological disability made her sound even scarier, and Eddie nearly fell off his seat and pissed his pants at the same time.

"Michele?"

"Who else?" she grumbled. "Eddie, it's so good to hear your voice again. I must have called your apartment at least a dozen times before I remembered that you're a vampire and work at the most disagreeable hours of the day. Luckily, Blake knows a man who works with the phone company and he was able to . . ."

"Track down my new number," Eddie finished with an incredulous air about the words. "What, is the CIA hiring out this week? Are you doing undercover work?"

"Oh, posh."

"Michele, I asked you not to intrude on my privacy anymore." 'Asked' was a gross understatement. He'd been rather forceful in his demand of it.

"Eddie, you're being very rude. I hardly think that tracking down your work number – which you conveniently forgot to tell me you changed – is infringing on your privacy." She laughed. "Good God, freak out."

"What's going on, Michele?" She sighed deeply, and Eddie could just picture her relaxing on a beach somewhere west of Hollywood, tanning until she was as brown as a berry, trying desperately to work her way through a Danielle Steel novel that she'd been reading for almost three months. Eddie wondered if this was the true lifestyle of the rich and famous, and if it was, why he didn't try to take some part in it.

"Have you talked to Mother recently?" she asked abruptly.

"No." Like Michele, Virginia Ferrell was overly obsessed with all things having to do with herself, and Eddie tried not to talk to her much more than he needed to. He loved his mother, and he always would, but like Ellie, he didn't want to have her around and in the position of imposing on his life.

"Well, I thought I might tell you that I'm coming down to visit her in a few months." Michele, in Jersey, within driving distance of his office and his home? It was a scary thought. "It's the perfect time, really," she continued, "because I'll arrive just when Fashion Week is beginning, and I've always wanted to go . . ."

"Understandable." A previous girlfriend of Eddie's, whom he'd dated during his freshman year at Harvard, had made him drive to New York City during Winter Break so they could see the show. Despite the anorexic models and over-excited celebrities, it was somewhat tolerable, and fit his sister's personality like the perfect shoe size.

"Anyway, Ed, Mother and I have been talking quite a bit about you . . ." A red flag went up in Eddie's head, but he kept silent. "Do you remember Lilly Roberts?"

"From Jersey High School?" Only for a split second did the picture of a slightly overweight girl with glasses, braces, and stringy brown hair cross into Eddie's mind. Lilly and Eddie had gone to high school together for one year, but Eddie had graduated before they could become any closer. They'd lived down the street from one another in Jersey, yet, although their parents were the best of friends, they had rarely been thrown together. Lilly had been on the Debate Team, the Drama Club, and she'd acted as official manager for the volleyball team one year. Eddie had been on the Literary Magazine, the school newspaper, and had tried out for football to avoid the insults that would undoubtedly be thrown at him by his peers, only to quit when his coach called him a shrimp. In retrospect, he was positive the only time he'd ever actually talked to Lilly was at the annual Christmas party that his parents would throw in tandem with the Roberts'.

"Yes!" Michele exclaimed. "That's her. Mother tells me that she's living in Jersey again."

"She's an incredibly successful therapist now, isn't she? I could have sworn I heard a friend of mine talking about a slew of self-help books she just put on the shelves. It's pretty amazing."

"Are you keeping tabs on her now, Eddie?"

"It's just stuff I've heard in passing, Michele. Do all of Los Angeles a favor and try not to make too much of it." Eddie checked his watch. It was almost midnight, and time for him to check out and go home. "I just have a hard time believing that someone with her monetary resources would want to live in Jersey." Truthfully, Eddie had a hard time thinking about the fact that his own parents had wanted to live in Jersey. It was quite possibly the grungiest place on the face of the planet, and the Ferrells had millions stocked up in bank accounts and investment companies all over the East Coast. He didn't know why they hadn't gone straight for the penthouse on Park Avenue just to get it done with. He could hear Michele grinding her teeth on the other end.

"Believe it, little brother," she said. "And believe this – she's single."

Eddie groaned deeply. He could see as clear as a bell the direction this conversation was taking, and he wasn't very fond of it.

"She's really shaped up since high school," Michele continued, as if she were pitching her brother the idea for a novel. "She lost all her baby fat, ditched the orthodontia, invested in contact lenses, and bought a bra. According to mother, she looks fucking fantastic." Sensing the disgust in her brother's silence, she sighed deeply. "You're working all the time. Mother and I just want to see you with someone that makes you happy, but allows you to loosen up. Who was the last girl you dated?"

"I don't remember."

"Exactly, because it's been such a long time. Just call her up, Ed. Have a few drinks, get reacquainted with one another. She's in the Yellow Pages, and awaiting your phone call." She sounded like a game show host.

"Michele, stop."

"Stop what?"

"You've been doing this for . . . well, ever since you got married. Just because you're no longer entitled to a dating life doesn't mean that you have the right to control mine." The dumbfounding silence on Michele's end told Eddie that he'd hit (and quite likely ruptured) a nerve.

"I can't believe how ungrateful you are being! I'm only trying to help you! You know perfectly well that Mother will disinherit you if you don't hook up with someone to her liking . . ."

"You mean someone conveniently rich," he interrupted. Michele pretended to ignore him.

". . . And she adores Lilly! I don't want to see you lose all the money you have to fall back on. What if your editing career goes down the drain? What will you do then?" She paused for a moment. "And I resent the fact that you think that this has anything to do with my dating life. Mother's just tired of those mediocre girls you're used to dating. Remember that one from the clerical department at Harvard? God, we were so happy when it ended."

"She was a student aide, not from the clerical department."

"She was on _scholarship_." Michele spat the word out of her mouth quickly, in a tone full of scorn and distaste. Eddie tried to mask his smile.

"Well, not everyone's mother sleeps with the Dean of Admissions." He had to bite his tongue to keep from spitting out the ugly words, "LIKE OURS."

"Fine, Eddie. Don't call Lilly Roberts. You can go on living a life of meager success with the frump from the clerical department, for all I care. I don't even know why I was concerned. If you're disinherited, everything goes to me and Robert. I should be happy and encouraging you to go on and ruin your life."

"It sounds like a great plan to me." Not even hesitating to hear her response, he slammed the phone back down onto the receiver and clutched his stomach in agony. He reached for his trash can, just in case the vomit threatening to gush up from his digestive tract accidentally escaped from his mouth. Why did he continue to torture himself by taking these phone calls from his sister? Why didn't he just hang up the second he heard her voice?

The office had been silent for only a minute when Kelly's voice come over the intercom once again, announcing that he had another phone call. Eddie wasn't surprised. If ever he hung up on his sister after one of their fights, she'd always call back: her personality required that she have the last biting word before they didn't speak to each other for another three months.

"What the hell is this, Michele? I have work I need to do!" he yelled into the phone as soon as he'd picked up. For a split second, there was a deafening silence on the other end.

"Hey, baby. Haven't heard from you in a while." Eddie froze. It definitely wasn't Michele calling. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure that this was about as worse as an unwanted phone call could get (with the exception of his mother, who he hadn't talked to in almost a year).

Here comes the nausea.

* * *

"No."

It was the most proper and deserving response for the ugly blue dress that Mary was holding in front of her like a banner of their poverty. Ellie wrinkled her nose at the sight of it; despite her lacking knowledge of all things fashion, she knew this hadn't been a great investment. She'd bought it to wear to a book signing in Hawaii directly after her novel had been published, and it had been a mistake that had landed her on _The Honolulu Advertiser's_ Worst Dressed List. Now, it appeared that it was coming back to plague her from the depths of her closet, where she'd stuffed it when she'd returned home. Mary threw it into the reject pile that had grew to great size in the hour they'd been rummaging through the closet, and let out an exasperated groan.

"We've been through everything," she exclaimed, falling into the pile of disorganized chenille sheets that lay on the bed. "Do you want to go and meet Eddie naked?"

"There has to be something to wear," Ellie murmured, sifting through pairs of black slacks two sizes too small and brilliantly colored blouses that Ellie hadn't worn since she was in college, when she could get away with it. Mary sighed deeply and looked up at her sister, laughing silently at the desperation Ellie was exhibiting.

There was a slight knock on the door, and Carol's head slipped through the crack only a second later. "Ellie, there's a phone call for you." Ellie nodded at her mother and followed her out of the room, leaving Mary in silence and peace for a few moments.

In truth, the last week hadn't been as aggravating as she'd thought it would be, what with Carol living with them. In truth, the Dashwood matriarch had been a great help around the house. She'd clean while Mary was at school and Ellie was working on her book, and she hadn't intruded at all in Ellie's relationship with Eddie. It was somewhat relaxing to have a mother again. Besides, Ellie wasn't so paranoid about Mary's social life with Carol around, and Mary had actually been able to live a little.

Abruptly, Ellie walked back into her bedroom and fell down onto the bed next to Mary. Noticing her dazed expression, the younger Dashwood girl found herself sitting up straight and looking at her sister with an expectant look on her face. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"That was Eddie," Ellie explained. "He's cancelled our meeting tonight." Mary didn't really find anything unusual about this. With someone of Eddie's work ethic, there were bound to be cancellations somewhere.

"That's too bad," she said with a touch of fake sympathy. "Did you reschedule?"

"He's leaving, Mary." Mary jolted at the words, and looked at Ellie, relatively confused. "He's going back to Massachusetts." She was shaking due to the shock, and Mary found herself guiding her arms around her sister's shoulders to comfort her.

"I'm sorry. Did he say why?"

"He said he had full confidence that I could finish the book without him. Apparently, he took a job as professional advisor to _The Harvard Crimson_. The editor-in-chief was convinced that he, as an alumnus, would make a great contribution to the staff. They've given him his own column."

"I bet he loves that," Mary grumbled. "Is he coming back soon?"

"He said he didn't know. God, I'm shocked. How could everything have been so perfect a few weeks ago and now be such crap? It's impossible." Ellie looked up at her sister, tears shining in her eyes. "Do you think he took the job to get away from me? Maybe he wasn't satisfied with some aspect of our relationship . . ." Mary eyed her sister suspiciously. Ellie had never referred to what she shared with Eddie as a 'relationship,' at least not to Mary. She'd always called it a professional understanding. Secretly, Mary had always suspected it was more, but wanted Ellie to divulge that information on her own terms.

"Maybe he was tired of Mark," Mary joked. "You know how Mr. Schaeffer is – clingy and interpersonal. It's ridiculous." Ellie snorted. "I've never liked that guy."

"It's only because he didn't return fire when you tried hitting on him." Mary laughed and looked down at her lap, smiling at the fact that Ellie remembered the first time that Mark had been introduced to the younger Dashwood girl. It had been three years ago, shortly after Mary had come to live with her older sister. Mark was doing some minor editing on a possible draft for another book of Ellie's, and Mary had thought he was gorgeous – until Ellie told her, later in the evening, that he was married.

"The details aren't important," she said. Ellie looked over at her sister, surprised by how much she'd grown up in the four weeks since Ellie had first called Carol. She was almost an adult.

"I'm going to put all of the clothes away," Ellie murmured, standing up to begin her work, "and then I might take a bath." Mary took the sentence as her cue to leave, and she exited the room, allowing a backward glance at her older sister, who was trying desperately to hide her pain.

**_A/N: I know . . . three chapters in one day! I am being needlessly repetitive, but . . . REVIEW!_**


	7. Chapter 7

"They broke up? What do you mean, they broke up?" Jessie exclaimed the next day at class. "They were getting on so well together!" Mary's eyes frantically darted around the auditorium, spying for any sign of Joanna Palmer. The girls were mum on details of Ellie's personal life when the wannabe was in the room, so they had to get their daily gossip quotient squared away before she arrived.

"He just left, without any credible explanation. She told me he'd taken another job in Massachusetts, but it's beyond why he'd even want to. Ellie's here in NYC, after all, and Norland is _the_ publishing company to work for. Why would anybody, in their right mind, settle for a job as occasional columnist for a university newspaper?" She and Jess took simultaneous sips of their hot chocolates (it was now October, and the frost was settling a little early on New York City) in order to avoid having to respond.

"Maybe he's gay," Jess speculated. Mary snorted into her drink and was about to respond when she noticed Joanna out of the corner of her eye. Giving her best friend the high sign, conversation was halted between the two girls for the rest of the class.

Five minutes later, Professor Brandon entered the classroom with a woman hot on his heels. She identified herself as Mrs. Jennings and, in direct correlation with her position on the Committee for Teacher Review, would be "auditing" Professor Brandon during the class time. Mary could care less whether or not her teacher was fit for the position; all she could really concentrate on was Ellie's love troubles, and that was enough to preoccupy anybody. Even Jess seemed a little off in the knowledge department today, and she'd never really wanted to know about Ellie's romantic life -- but recently, she'd been rooting for her relationship with Eddie.

Two minutes before class dismissal, the professor held up a stack of papers. "I have the results of your latest test. If you care to know what you've received, I'd advise you to pick this up on your way out. They're sorted alphabetically." He set them down on the empty desk closest to the door. "You're free to go. Have chapter four read by tomorrow, and answer the discussion questions at the end of the book." As everyone was emptying the rows in the auditorium, Professor Brandon pulled Mary aside. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

Mary looked back at Jess, who was waiting by the door with an expectant look on her face. She held up her index finger and followed her professor behind his desk, where he picked up a piece of paper that looked suspiciously like her test. There was a giant red "E" at the top.

"This concerns me, Miss Dashwood," he said. "This is the second test in a row that you've failed. I'd like to know why." Mary shrugged.

"You and me both," she murmured, taking the test from his hand so she could look through it. She'd studied super hard for it, and was disappointed to see her effort hadn't paid off at all. "Look, I don't know what's going on. I studied for it, I swear I did."

"Did you understand the material?" he asked.

"I . . . I think so," she said, fumbling for the words. "I mean, yeah, I did. Well, as much as anyone can. I don't know about you, but I don't see the concepts of Anatomy really integrated in my career choice. But I am trying. My sister makes sure of that."

"Good." He eyed her closely. "But trying doesn't pay off if you don't understand what you're learning, and you don't sound confident that you do. Perhaps you'd consider private tutoring sessions." Mary found her head darting upward. Professor Brandon had an unfamiliar look in his eye, and it was one that Mary wasn't comfortable with. She might have run out of the room screaming, "RAPE!" if she didn't have the satisfaction of knowing that another administrator was in the room. She drew back, careful to not show her fear of the situation.

"I'll think about it," she said. Truthfully, she didn't have much to think about. "Jess is really smart, anyway. Maybe she could help me." She stuffed the test into her tote bag and made her way back around the desk. "Thanks for the concern, Professor, but I think I've got everything worked out." She smiled and thrust her arm through the crook of Jess's elbow so as to lead her best friend out of the room at a rate comfortable to Mary.

Brandon watched her go, not entirely satisfied with the way things had ended.

* * *

Harriet Jennings watched her colleague and old friend from the top of the classroom. He was enveloped in a conversation with a student that reminded Harriet greatly of someone from Phil's uneasy past, and that discomforted her enormously. Making her final notations on the paper, she stood up and made her way down the steps just as the student and her friend were leaving the room. Phil stood still behind his desk, engrossed in her departing form.

"Phil?" Harriet asked, waving her hand in front of his face so as to get his attention. He snapped out of the trance quickly, and eyed her with a happy smile on his face.

"How do I rank?" he asked.

"You know I can't tell you," she said. "Department rules." Throwing her scarf around her neck, she tucked her clipboard firmly into her briefcase and found herself reaching across the countertop to grab her friend's hand. "I thought we might go and grab a cup of coffee before your next class." He smiled warmly.

"That sounds great."

Fifteen minutes later, the duo found themselves sitting down in a crowded coffee shop across from Bryant Park, nursing a cup of the black beverage. Harriet found herself observing her friend at the oddest of times, including when a group of college girls entered the shop, giggling as they made their way towards the back of the room where the younger people hung out.

"How do you enjoy your job, Phil?" Harriet asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. Brandon looked at her, a curious look on his face, which had softened with age.

"Am I still being graded?"

"Maybe."

"If I am, I'd say it's a real honor to be teaching here and that I wouldn't choose to teach anywhere else. If I'm not, I'd say it's a lot of work – quite honestly, more than I expected – and the kids are hell raisers if you're not careful." Harriet laughed. "All together, though," he continued, "it's not all that bad. It's not exactly what I might have seen myself doing ten years ago, but I'm glad I can still make some difference." Harriet set down her mug and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair to get a better look at her friend.

His experiences had caused him to age considerably, even though he was only thirty-three. His naturally dark hair was growing lighter around the temples, and the look in his eyes seemed to broadcast nothing but sadness and disappointment, even if they were accompanied by one of the smiles that used to make the female interns from Cook County swoon. He was quite handsome for his age, and Harriet could vaguely remember a time when her own daughter had a crush on him. It was during medical school, and Charlotte had come home during Spring Break relating to her mother stories of the incomparable Phil Brandon. When the time came that Harriet was introduced to her daughter's friend, Harriet felt like she knew him well enough to call him her son. Nothing ever came of his and Charlotte's friendship, but she had gone on to marry Phil's best friend, allowing Harriet even greater contact with him. She sighed, remembering the good days.

"I know that look," Phil observed. "Harriet Jennings is reminiscing. What about?"

"Nothing that concerns you," she snapped jokingly, and laughed at the frightened look on Phil's face. Remembering why she'd suggested the coffee run, she leaned forward again so as not to be heard by anyone else in the shop. "Phil, how are you lately? You've been doing well in the financial department, right? You don't need help paying your rent or anything, because if so, I'd be more than willing . . ."

"No, Harriet, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"It was just yesterday that I realized how closely the anniversary of Elizabeth's death was approaching, and I figured you'd be . . ."

"Despondent, acting out, depressed?" he finished for her. Brandon had gotten quite used to the bouts of worry Harriet would experience for his fate. "I'm fine, really." He smiled mischievously. "Is that why you scheduled that review for this week? To check up on the state of my mental and emotional health?"

"Oh, stop being such a baby, you know that's not why," Harriet spat out.

"You don't have to be worried about me," Phil insisted. "I can take care of myself perfectly fine." Harriet looked down at her lap.

"She looks like Elizabeth, you know," she observed. "That girl you were talking to after class? They have the same eyes – full of curiosity and promise." Phil's smile had dipped into a frown at the mention of Mary Dashwood. Apparently, his intentions hadn't been masked enough to get by Harriet, and he was disappointed in himself. Harriet leaned in again. "But she's a student, Phil. You can't get caught up in romance, not now. You have to understand the lengths that John took to convince the alumni that you deserved this job. It was a hard battle, especially after your little mishap at Cook County two years back."

"Don't mention that, please," he begged.

"It's not my intention to rehash old wounds," Harriet insisted, "but you have to understand that I'm worried about you. I don't want to see history repeating itself."

"It won't."

"Do you promise, Phil?" Brandon nodded his head dazedly, and Harriet wondered if he'd even heard her and was simply responding to her moving mouth in the way that wouldn't get another lecture. Truthfully, Harriet had her doubts about the entire situation; the last time Phil had made such a promise to her, he'd broken it and had gotten himself fired. His dreams of being a world-class surgeon had disappeared with that first kiss – the first time he'd flirted with that intern, he'd been on the road to trouble. And all of it was in pursuit of recreating a woman he'd sworn he'd love forever, but would never see again.

Phil Brandon had fallen in love with Elizabeth Morris during their final year of medical school. Harriet was pleased by the match, as everyone had been. Elizabeth had great prospects, and everyone – even her teachers – knew that she would be successful. Brandon was the luckiest man in the world to have gotten her.

Shortly after their graduation, the two became engaged, but were forbidden to marry by Elizabeth's controlling Jewish parents, who didn't like the fact that Brandon wasn't especially religious. Harriet was quite sure that they viewed him as the anti-Christ, and was positive that they would have personally ensured that the couple would never meet again by killing Phil off the first chance they got. Instead, Elizabeth was handed off to the very man Brandon had sworn to loathe for all eternity and became trapped in an unhappy marriage that killed her in the end. She lost the will to live, her health failed, and all that helped her to finish gate was the image of Brandon in her head.

Although Phil had tried to put on a happy face, Harriet knew that he had never quite recovered from Elizabeth's death. Now, whenever he started dating someone, the first thing Harriet realized was that she was a direct replica of his deceased lover. It troubled her to no end.

She checked her watch and noticed that it was almost two o'clock. Her next review was in a half-an-hour and by no means was she going to be late. She stood up, and Phil followed suit.

"Are you heading back to the school?" she asked.

"My next class isn't until four," he explained. "I might head to my apartment and prepare." She found herself sharing in a warm embrace with him that he was rather surprised by.

"Don't hesitate to call if you need anything," she insisted, pulling away. "And be careful. You don't learn from your mistakes if you keep making them."

"It's good to see you have so much faith in me, Harriet," he called out to her as she departed.

* * *

**_A/N: I'm a little disappointed by the number of reviews the story is getting - I know people are reading it because the number of hits is huge, but . . . well, it's not like I can MAKE you review. Feedback would be hugely appreciated, though, and I'm going to continue this story whether I have three reviews or three hundred._**

**_I really wanted to explore Brandon's character more, so when I found out we didn't have school this morning, I sat down in front of the computer and started writing. It might not be the best chapter, but I hope it makes you think a little better of him. A special note: this Cook County incident may be referenced a little more in the story, but I won't go in depth about what happened. It's like the infamous "Noodle Incident" from Calvin and Hobbes (although a few details are mentioned above, if you happened to catch them, but that's not the whole story)._**

**_I'll say it again -- review! (even if you don't like the story, tell me so. Maybe I can make it better.)_**


	8. Chapter 8

Barton College was located on three square miles of private New York property, situated near the end of the Financial District, bordering the ferry docks that shipped tourists to Battery Park and Liberty Island every day. It was one of the city's more scenic, majestic college campuses, due in part to the view of the Statue of Liberty from the north end of the grounds. The administration figured it was probably more patriotic, thus providing the college with a strong political standing, and an excuse to charge the students who stayed in the residence halls on that end of the campus extra rent.

By far, the most sought after spot on campus was the expanse of stairs leading from the main park on the West End to the leisure yard near the Science and Art Departments, affectionately named the Steps by the students. Because most of Mary's classes were in this general area of campus, she often found herself gravitating toward the spot that many students considered one of the college's main attractions. On nice days, she'd pick a seat and study, all while watching happy couples having lunch and making out. With the sound of the leisure yard fountain trickling in the foreground, it was an incredibly romantic spot. Mary only hoped that one day she'd be in a relationship with a guy who didn't mind PDA on the Steps. She'd tried it with Derek, only to have humiliation at his hands result.

In the mean time, the coming of November became more evident every day. The temperatures were dropping with consistency, the air was growing drier, and WNIC radio commercials had begun to announce the arrival of Christmas music after Thanksgiving.

Mary loved everything about New York City at winter. Christmas lights would be hung across the trees in the downtown area, ice sculptures would be crafted by professionals purely for the delight of the tourists, and Rockefeller Center would soon be constructing the massive ice rink that Mary considered to be one of the season's most romantic date spots. On the female side, the Madison Avenue sales were absolutely to die for. Every year, on the Friday after Halloween, Mary and Jessie would meet at the Steps, ditch their last class of the day, and taxi downtown. They'd spend their entire evening at the Manhattan stores where holiday sales had already made their appearance and then commandeer the Middleton penthouse for the night. It was a tradition that Mary looked forward to every year, and she knew it would never get old.

She'd only been waiting at the Steps for fifteen minutes when her phone began buzzing with the arrival of a text from Jessie herself:

**LATE TEST – MAYBE 20 MINUTES LEFT . . . WAIT FOR ME?**

Mary nodded to nobody in particular and began flouncing down the Steps in direction of the leisure yard café, named Campbell Apartment. The manager – a heavy chick named Flora who'd graduated from Barton two years before – had been a literary major like Ellie, and also a Julie Kenner fan. When Mary first glimpsed the neon glow of the café's sign, she could only think of Givenchy, and it certainly wasn't easing the pain of the time change.

Still, maybe the setback was a blessing in disguise. Professor Brandon's end-of-marking-period paper was due on Monday, and Mary had only just begun the research for it. Without a doubt, she could care less about the ridiculous assignment, especially considering it was for a class that would have absolutely no impact on her future. Still, some strange part of her didn't accept flunking as an option.

Reaching the bottom of the Steps, Mary reached into her tote and viewed the notes she'd taken for the paper already. Writing on the page was scarce, and looked as if it had been the product of a two-dimensional F5 tornado. Groaning deeply, she prepared to lug open the door to the heated café, looking forward to the warm coffee that awaited her inside (and sadly, the Internet access which would provide a plethora of information for the paper).

Suddenly, from the direction of the Hudson River, a large gust of wind swept Mary's paper from her grasp and sent it sailing back up the Steps.

_What is this, punishment for not doing the paper when it was assigned? For ditching class, even? Because if so, Art Appreciation really doesn't matter!_

Dropping her bag near the door, she ran after the paper, barreling through happy (and later, hypothermic) couples; past math geeks battling it out on portable chess sets; past teachers who, like Mary, were also crunched for time and doing their work on the way to their class; and past other students who, also like Mary, were ditching their last class of the last day of the week.

Mary felt like a cop in hot pursuit of a criminal, and it was embarrassing. She wasn't used to prancing after a silly paper like this – usually, she and Jessie would make fun of the nerds who did. She was just about to give up (after all, it was only research) when, out of nowhere, her paper was snatched up by a very cute African American boy with a black messenger bag and navy Converse. His short dreadlocks bounced as he stood up straight to reveal bright green eyes and an adorable smile.

"Is this yours?" he asked as she approached.

"Yeah, thanks," she mumbled, taking it from him slowly so that her gaze might linger on him for a moment longer. He eyed the header suspiciously.

"Colonel Brandon's class, huh? That's killer." He shrugged, pulling his hand away. "I had him last year, and he bestowed the wrath of God on all of us." He spoke with a mocking tone that Mary could only laugh at.

"Is that why you call him the Colonel?" she asked.

"Damn straight." After the blunt statement, a surprising blush crept across his face, and Mary found her inside churning. Was he blushing because of her, or the situation? "I'm Adam Willoughby."

"Mary Dashwood." He smiled, and then took a prophetic glance up at the sky, as if all of heaven were about to let loose right over their heads.

"It's kind of cold out here, don't you think?" Mary nodded, even though it was in the fifties. He motioned towards the café. "Want to go in?" He moved down the Steps at a pace that Mary had to run to keep up with, and that was before she had even answered. But truthfully, even though she'd only known Adam Willoughby for a mere ten seconds, she knew that she would follow him anywhere.

* * *

"I'm premed," Adam explained ten minutes later as the duo sipped their respective cups of coffee. "The mother of an old friend of mine was a surgeon, and she encouraged me to pursue the same field. Personally, I'd love to do something with obstetrics." Mary must have expressed a look of confusion across her face, because as soon as Adam looked up at her, he let out a throaty laugh. "Pregnancy."

"Oh," she mumbled, embarrassed. Why the hell hadn't she known that? She was an avid fan of _Grey's Anatomy_, for crying out loud.

"What about you? I've told you all that there is to know about me." It was true. In the span of only ten minutes, Mary had learned that Adam described himself as a "swarthy nerd who had grown up in Brooklyn" with his three siblings (all girls) and his white mother. His father, who had been African American, had run out on the family when Adam was only twelve, and had never looked back.

"Well," Mary began, "I grew up in Miami with my parents and my older sister, Ellie. My dad died when I was only fourteen, and I kind of lost myself after that. Ellie moved up here, published a bestselling novel, and became famous. I stayed in Florida with my incompetent mother, who dropped me off with my sister the first chance she had and moved to Africa to help orphaned children. She's back now, my sister's trying to pump out a second novel, and once again, I've been lost in translation."

"Wow. And I thought my family was screwed up." Mary laughed at the dry humor. "Surely, your sister isn't the Ellie Dashwood? _A Change of Seasons_, Ellie Dashwood?"

"That's her."

"My sister practically worshipped that book. I thought it was ridiculous – way too fictional to be an autobiography. I was a senior in high school when it was published, and we had to read it for my English class. If you ask me, it's basically a cliché." Mary nodded, although she thought the criticism was a bit harsh. "Still, the character she created for you – the 'rebel-without-a-cause' younger sister, I'm assuming – seemed to have a pretty smart head on her shoulders. If that's true, why did you pick Barton College? It isn't exactly the best school in the United States, and you're probably really smart." Mary scoffed.

"Elle put in a good word for me, and the president thought that if I had half as much potential as she did, I'd make a great addition to the student population. Besides, my mom couldn't afford to send me anywhere else."

"What's your major?"

"Social Psychology," she explained rather proudly. "I've always liked the idea of being able to help other people with their problems. If I had someone like that when I was a teenager, I wouldn't be half as screwed up."

"I think you'll be good at it," he complimented. "I feel a lot better now than I did ten minutes ago, and I didn't even have a problem I needed help with." Mary laughed and blushed. "In the mean time, why the hell are you taking Anatomy if your major requires minimal science skills?"

"I forgot to fill my Science requirement as a freshman, and I never got around to it until this year. It's pretty ridiculous, actually." She looked down at her lap. Laughing (either at her foolishness, or her aversion to his gaze), Adam abruptly looked down at his watch. The shock of the time that had passed prompted a sudden leap from his chair and a frantic lunge for his bag, which was sitting on the floor under the table.

"Where are you going?" she asked, and drew back at the sound of her whiny tone.

"I'm late for an appointment," he explained, throwing on his black raincoat. "But it was really nice meeting you, and I'd like to see you again, if that's okay. Do you live on campus?"

"No, I live over in Chelsea Apartments." Reaching down to her bag, she pulled out a small slip of lined paper and scribbled her cell number on in pencil. "Call me whenever." He pocketed the slip, mumbled another goodbye and a promise to call the next day, and left the café quickly. Mary leaned back in her chair, chock full of ecstasy, and had not resumed her good posture when Jessie entered the café, shivering because of the wind.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized empathetically.

"That's all right," Mary mumbled, still star struck. "Really."

"What's wrong with you?" Jessie asked. "You have an expression on your face resembling someone in severe pain. Are you all right?"

"I'm not in pain at all! Is that really what I look like?" Mary asked, picking up her tote bag and motioning for her best friend to follow her from the café. "You know what, let's just go shopping, okay? I have huge news." Jess rolled her eyes. Mary always seemed to have big news.

"I met a guy!" Mary exclaimed under her breath so passing students wouldn't hear her. "His name is Adam Willoughby, and he's a med student."

"Is he cute?" Jessie's spirits seemed to heighten at the mention of a male medical student.

"Absolutely gorgeous!" Mary gushed as the girls approached the gate to the college. Through the wrought iron bars, she could see cars passing on the street. The occasional taxi cab was to be spotted heading towards the downtown area, no doubt a return journey from the ferry docks. The guard entered a code into a keypad that had been installed on the door of his kiosk, and the gate swung open slowly, allowing the girls to pass through onto the sidewalk. Mary hailed a cab, which responded quickly.

"Does this mean that you've finally gotten over Derek?" Mary felt her face falling at the mention of the boy she had been head over heels for at the beginning of the school year.

"I hadn't even thought about him," she admitted. Jessie smiled and stepped into the cab.

"Good. Don't."

* * *

**_A/N: This was a really hard chapter to write, and it's shorter than the others, too. Thanks to my reviewers: _**Willa, Lexy, and shinko-chan. **_Your praises mean a lot - keep them coming! Specific questions/concerns addressed below._**

**_Ransom Gage: _**Ellie is short for Eleanor.

**_J: _**Your concern is one I've been grappling with since I began writing the story. Colonel Brandon and Marianne's relationship was my favorite in the original novel, and I really didn't want to smear that in any way. Unfortunately, in this day and age, any hint of a teacher quite possibly liking one of his students affords that teacher the label of "pervert." So, even though Mary is legally an adult, I have a feeling she'd still freak out a little bit if Brandon was flirting with her. But maybe I can try and tone down the flirting a little bit - I don't think he's going to be a frequent character in the next few chapters anyway. Thanks for the suggestion!

**_Keep sending the reviews this way! Now that school is out for the summer, I may be updating more frequently. Enjoy! - The Pig Lady_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, Ellie, Mark Schaeffer calling. I just wanted to get in touch so we could schedule a meeting for sometime this week – because of Ed's sudden departure, Kent Norland is trying to fill his spot in the employee docket. He actually just hired a woman who used to represent Dorchester Publishing. Anyway, give me a call and we can do lunch so you can meet her. Besides, I'd like to see the progress you've made on that new masterpiece of yours. Hope all is well over there, and give me a call. You know where to reach me. Bye, Elle.**

* * *

This message was the driving force behind the migraine that had been brewing in Ellie's right brain for the entire weekend. She hadn't bothered to call Mark back, but had notified the office switchboard to let him know she'd be coming in on Monday for a five minute meeting. Truthfully, she wasn't looking forward to the affair at all. Her draft was halfway completed, yet she had no interest in letting Mark pry through it. The only other thing she had no interest in was meeting the new publicist that had been hired to take Eddie's place.

Still, in a way she was obligated to at least meet the woman. She knew already that she wasn't going to forge some lasting friendship with her – their relationship would be kept purely professional. Kent Norland wanted to ensure that Ellie's public image was held in the highest esteem, and if this woman was going to attempt to succeed in the same area, Ellie figured it might do some good to make an effort at niceties.

She arrived at the Norland offices on Wall Street shortly after eleven o'clock, and was instantly greeted in the lobby by a second year intern named Anne Hudson, who idolized Ellie in every way possible. The two women had first met at a party held by Kent Norland the year before, in celebration of another client who had just garnered over a million dollars for the company. Anne, who had no other friends at the company, clung to Ellie like glue and was eager to relate to her the particulars of any gossip that was circulating about anybody associated with Norland. Judging by the eager look on Anne's face, Ellie could tell that the intern had news to share.

"There's a rumor going around about you," Anne mumbled under her breath as she walked alongside Ellie toward the elevators on the opposite side of the lobby.

"Really?"

"Yeah – about you and Eddie Ferrell, actually. Last night, someone posted an entry on one of the website message boards claiming that the two of you were having an affair. Everyone is saying that it's the reason Eddie was fired – not the entry, but the fact that you two may or may not have been sleeping together." She leaned in closer to Ellie as she pushed the 'up' button on the elevator panel. "Were you?"

"Were we what?"

"Sleeping together!" Ellie felt herself beginning to laugh at Anne's frantic tone, and quickly cupped her left hand over her mouth to keep the sound from escaping. She pulled it away a few seconds later, noticing the expectant look on Anne's face. "Well?" the intern demanded once more.

"No, we weren't." _Unfortunately_, she felt herself thinking. "We were just friends." The two girls stepped into the elevator. "Do they know who posted the message?"

"It was anonymous." Ellie gritted her teeth, wondering who would post such a ridiculous accusation. She hoped to God that someone had noticed it and deleted it before Kent Norland could see it. An accusation like that could jeopardize her very future at the company – a future that, she realized slowly, was riding on Mark's reaction to the manuscript in the manila folder she was carrying in her handbag.

Mark's office was on the fifth floor, at the very end of a long, poorly lighted hallway. Walking down, Ellie felt a little like Danny in _The Shining_, and half expected two psychotic twins to emerge from one of the other offices after having mistaken the building for a psychotherapy institution. At the thought, she steadily increased her pace, and was out of breath by the time she reached the doorway.

She didn't waste any time (or courtesy) by knocking. Shoving all of her one-hundred-and-fifty-pounds against the hard wood, the hinges buckled under her weight, and the door swung open, nearly slamming a hole in the wall. She panted deeply, her hands on her knees.

"Why can't you rent a better office on a nicer floor, you cheapskate?" she demanded, a hint of sarcasm masking her overdramatized fear.

"Nice to see you again, Elle," Mark muttered under his breath, an air of professionalism surrounding the cool words. "How are you?" He gritted his teeth and nodded in the direction of the window. Standing directly in the sunlight was a proficiently dressed young woman who Ellie assumed was her new publicist.

"Fine," she said, trailing off as the woman spun around to face her. The newcomer was smiling politely, but Ellie was bothered by the false happiness it seemed to display.

"Hello," she exclaimed cheerfully, moving forward with her arm extended towards Ellie's midriff. "I'm Lucie Steele. You must be Eleanor Dashwood." Mark snorted, and Ellie found herself shooting a gaze of contempt in his direction. Lucie eyed both of them curiously. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Ellie insisted. "It's just . . . most people call me Ellie. Not Eleanor."

"Oh. Sorry." Ellie couldn't help noticing that Lucie didn't sound very sorry at all – as a matter of fact, she sounded rather put-out by the correction. Already, the Dashwood woman was unimpressed with her publicist's attitude and the way she conducted herself in social settings. Mark, sensing the tension, stood up and eyed Ellie with a careful, yet expectant look on his softened face.

"Do you have the draft?" he begged. Ellie laughed and pulled the folder from her bag, setting it in his hands, which were trembling with excitement.

"Don't read it all in one sitting," she joked, peeling off her black corduroy pea coat and draping it over the arm of the chair in front of her editor's desk.

"Start pitching," he ordered, pulling the manuscript from the file with the utmost precision. His attitude was gruff now that Ellie had supplied "the goods." He had switched into editor mode, and was getting to work.

"It's not finished," she admitted. "That's only the first ten chapters." She eyed Lucie uncomfortably, not sure if she wanted to spill the details of her new book in front of a total stranger – it was, after all, based somewhat on her life. She wasn't even sure if she wanted Mark to read it. "I'll let it surprise you," she insisted, and gathered her bag. "Are you going to need me for anything else, or am I free to go?" He eyed her suspiciously, glancing back and forth between his client and his colleague.

"Yeah, you can go," he mumbled. "I'll call you when I'm done reading, and we can get together to discuss." She nodded in agreement, and prepared to leave.

"It was nice meeting you, Ellie," Lucie called out as Ellie shut the door behind her.

* * *

Lucie smiled mischievously as she stepped into the fifth floor elevator, satisfied with the meeting that had just taken place with her new client. Ellie Dashwood had been low in self-esteem, nervous, and intimidated by her, which made her goal at Norland all the more reachable.

_"Have you met any women in New York, dear?"_

_"Only one – but it's nothing but a friendly relationship. Still, I find myself incredibly congratulatory of the man lucky enough to capture Ellie Dashwood's heart, for he would be very lucky indeed."_

The words ran through her head over and over again, and she found herself gritting her teeth. She had heard them over the phone almost two weeks before, and seeing the woman now, she couldn't understand them. What made Eleanor – _oh, excuse me, Ellie_ – Dashwood so special? As far as Lucie was concerned, the bestselling authoress had been nothing short of drab and out-of-style. Was Lucie honestly expected to compete with her?

She found herself grinning again. If this was the case, Ellie Dashwood was fighting a losing battle. Lucie could play as dirty as the dirtiest, and the little computer mishap this morning had proved it.

Stepping out into the marble-toned lobby of the Norland Building, Lucie reached into her tote bag and pulled out her cell phone, which she dialed with great speed.

"American Airlines, this is Haley, how can I help you?"

"I'd like an update on a flight that's departing this morning," Lucie asked, turning away from a curious looking intern who was watching her with great diligence. "Departing from LaGuardia Airport at eleven o'clock and arriving at Logan Airport in Boston at one o'clock." Haley was silent for a second.

"That flight's boarding as we speak," Haley explained. "Are you registered as a passenger on the flight?"

"No," Lucie said. "No, I am not."

* * *

Eddie clutched his boarding license and carry-on briefcase, aware that anybody milling around him could very well be a registered pickpocket. The woman running the ticket desk looked as if she'd gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, and nearly proved it when she demanded Eddie's ticket in a very angry voice.

Through the window of the plane, he could make out the Manhattan skyline, and he momentarily thought of Ellie. He could only wonder what she was doing at the moment, and whether or not she missed him; the very thought that she might was driving him crazy.

His cell phone rang out suddenly, and Eddie grappled for it quickly in case he was to be scolded by one of the beautiful female flight attendants. Flipping open the cover without checking the caller ID, he asked gruffly, "Hello?" There was a slight squeal.

"I'm glad I reached you. Can you talk?" The voice was all too familiar, and Eddie momentarily remembered the uncomfortable conversation he'd had with the speaker two weeks before.

"I'm on a plane right now."

"I know. Why?"

"I got a job in Boston, and I decided to take it. New York was too busy for me. I miss home." He sounded like a whiny school boy who was leaving summer camp early because he couldn't cut it out. There was a slight giggle from the other end, and Eddie found himself rolling his eyes.

"I've got to go, we're going to be leaving soon . . ."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to avoid me, Edward. You knew I was coming to New York to be with you, and then you take the first available flight back to Massachusetts? I'm offended." The woman sighed deeply. "Certainly, your sudden departure has nothing to do with Ellie Dashwood?" Eddie nearly choked at the mention of Ellie's name.

"No," he insisted.

"Good." There was a content silence, and Eddie used it as an excuse to hang up the phone. When it buzzed five seconds later, he ignored it.


	10. Chapter 10

Ellie let herself in the front door of her apartment and set her keys on the foyer table. Her short meeting had left her completely exhausted, and a little confused. There was something about Lucie Steele that Ellie wasn't entirely comfortable with – she couldn't figure out exactly what it was, but she knew that the attitude was apparent, for Mark had seemed to sense it as well.

From farther inside the house, Ellie could hear the vacuum rolling over the living room carpet. In the past weeks, Carol had taken to completely disinfecting the apartment. She had already scoured the linoleum floor in the kitchen with ammonia, and taken a brush and two cartons of Comet through the master bathroom toilet. Even though the apartment was cramped with three people living in it, it certainly was nicer now that Carol had taken over the housework completely.

Ellie entered the living room wearily and slumped down into the curves of the couch. Carol shut off the vacuum and eyed her daughter. "How was the meeting?"

"As good as to be expected," Ellie answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'll go into detail later, but I think I'm going to take a shower now." She stood up and left the room, with Carol calling after her, warning her to wash the soap residue off of the curtain when she was finished. "It was like scrubbing off Hell's Angels!" she proclaimed in mock anger.

Ellie traipsed down the hall at a leisurely pace, unaware of the ragged moans coming from her sister's room until she was standing directly outside the door. She eyed it curiously, and then turned back to face the direction she had just come from. Her mother hadn't yet turned on the vacuum, so Ellie felt it was safe to yell.

"Mom, did Mary leave for school?" she called out.

"About ten minutes before you got home!" Ellie's eyes widened, and she lunged at the doorknob. Swinging into the room with the weight of the door underneath her, she nearly tripped over a pile of dirty clothes and fell face-first into the weave rug. Just barely regaining her balance, she looked to her left and shrieked at the sight.

"Mary!"

* * *

After some frantic fumbling for the covers, which had bunched up at the end of the mattress, Mary was able to regain her composure and untangle herself from between Adam's legs. Ellie had gravitated towards the corner of the bedroom, where she stood shielding her eyes, and Carol was standing in the doorway, having bounded down the hall at the sound of her eldest's shriek.

"What the hell is going on?" Ellie demanded to know. "Mary, who is this guy, and why the hell aren't you in school?" Carol coughed and eyed Ellie.

"Even I can't deny the alternative was tempting, Elle . . ." she put in, and Mary sent a mental thank you across the room to her mother.

"Uh . . ." Adam mumbled, "should I leave?" Mary reached over and grabbed his forearm, a gesture that prompted him to stay still for the present time. Mary looked over at her relatives, smiling slyly as if the intrusion had proved her to be so much more daring than she really was.

"This is Adam Willoughby," she explained. "We've been dating for two weeks." She narrowed her eyes at Ellie, as if she had made a point that justified her actions.

"Oh, that makes everything so much better," she exclaimed sarcastically. "Mary, put some clothes on. I'm calling a family meeting." Carol's eyes widened, and she lunged towards her eldest in a gesture of protest.

"Ellie, I don't think that's necessary . . ." It was clearly the wrong thing to say at the wrong time. Ellie turned around, her eyes narrowed into slits. Carol found herself drawing back at her eldest daughter's angry appearance, and nearly backed into the wall closest to her. Mary watched the exchange, frightened by Ellie's overly hostile demeanor.

They wasted no time in returning to the living room. Mary clothed herself in a bra, thong, and bathrobe; Carol had insisted that Adam leave; and Ellie had choked down a sedative. She was, in no way, prepared for the irrevocable fireworks that would erupt from Mary's mouth about how horrible she had treated Adam, and how embarrassing she was to have as a sister. These conflictions were somewhat soothed by the fact that Ellie was indeed the older sister, and that it was her house – meaning that she had the right to throw anybody out.

She entered the living room, rubbing her temples. Mary, spotting her older sister, leapt up off the couch and screamed in her direction, "I can't believe you! What gives you any right to behave so horribly in front of any of my friends, especially Adam?" Ellie sat down in the massive Queen Ann armchair and crossed her legs, trying to appear peaceful even though her subconscious was throwing shouts right back. When it became apparent that Ellie wasn't going to respond, Mary continued. "You embarrassed him! He may never speak to me again, and I really like him! I know that this is your house, Ellie, but it was my room and you had no right to assume that I was doing anything wrong! You had no right to come barging in like that!"

"Did I?"

"How dare you!" Mary lunged, but Carol blocked her way. When she regained her composure, she noticed that Ellie was on her feet, her index finger jabbing at Mary.

"How dare I? How dare you! How can you be so irresponsible and not even care?" Ellie rolled her eyes and moved closer. Carol's body continued to serve as a block between the two girls. "I can't believe you skipped school to . . . _shtupp_ some stoner . . ."

"He's not a stoner! You don't even know him!"

" . . . That you've only known for two weeks! Unbelievable. I didn't think that even you could stoop so low." She let out a string of African swear words that Carol had been teaching her, and looked back at her sister again. "Do you even realize how stupid the things you do are when you're doing them? I mean, seriously, Mary. You're always going on about how much you hate it when guys take advantage of you. This is why. They probably think that you're a slut."

"Ellie, that was uncalled for!" Carol exclaimed, jumping to her youngest daughter's defense. Mary fumed with deserving anger, and pushed past her mother to get within punching distance of Ellie.

"Just because you're incapable of showing your true feelings to a guy that you could have a great relationship with doesn't mean that everyone else has to wear a fucking chastity belt! I swear to God, Ellie, you're not happy unless everyone else is absolutely miserable, because then that means you're not the only one wallowing in depression." She was panting heavily, slightly surprised at her own outburst. Ellie suddenly looked as though she was holding back tears – and losing.

"Maybe we need to adjourn this meeting for the night," Carol began, but Ellie had left the room before she could even finish the sentence.

Carol, eyeing her daughter's retreating form, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what had just taken place. Mary continued to stand near the fireplace, fuming.

"That was unnecessary," Carol admitted, eyeing her youngest. Frankly, Mary didn't find it too surprising that her mother thought this, and said as much.

"Oh, so you're going to take Ellie's side? I really should've known." She turned away, viewing the Manhattan skyline through the living room window. "You've always loved her more than you've loved me." She was taken aback by her own words, and how childish they sounded – still, it was pent up emotion left over from a time where she had been viewed as a child. She figured now was the best time ever to state how she felt.

"Mary, I don't love either of you more than the other!"

"You didn't abandon Elle," Mary grumbled under her breath. "You know what, Mom, whatever. I have to go to school anyway." She prepared to leave the room, but was stopped by Carol's grasp on her arm.

"Is that why you're so upset? Because you think I abandoned you?"

"I don't think. You did. Dad died, and you dropped me off here as soon as I graduated! You didn't even ask if I wanted to come and stay with Elle – I mean, the answer was right in front of your eyes the entire time, and you couldn't even see it because you were caught up in your own problems."

"Ellie had nothing to do with any of this. It's unfair for you to take your anger at me out on her."

"She wrote an entire book about how horrible it was in Miami – a horrible book trashing you, and Dad, and me! She called me a 'misguided teenager that still acts like a child,' and penned an entire chapter about how irresponsible and immature I am. Can you even begin to realize how that makes me feel?" She turned away from her mother, tears dripping down her cheeks. Carol didn't know how to respond. Truthfully, she felt rather relieved that Mary had finally let her opinion of Ellie and her own mother free to roam. It was something she had been preparing for ever since she'd left the United States nearly four years before. She had rehearsed what she'd say if she was ever confronted with the opportunity – yet, now that she was physically standing in the position, it appeared as if no words had ever been invented.

Instead, she backed away in the direction of the hall Ellie had just disappeared down. Mary thought, for a second, that she was just going to walk away and avoid having to say anything at all. Only two seconds after the initial accusation, Carol spun around to face her youngest, breathing deeply.

"She begged for you to come and stay with her," she explained. "I just about died after your father died, and Ellie was concerned that, when she left, I might not be able to help you move forward from the tragedy because I couldn't. She was right. I only made things worse, really. I felt like a failure – not just to you and your sister, but to your father as well. He wanted so much for the both of you.

"Your sister loves you very much, Mary. She's given you somewhere to live in a fantastic city I would've died to even visit when I was younger. She's guaranteed you a college education – one that your father always wanted you to have. She's provided you with so much – why can't you just appreciate it?" Carol didn't even wait to hear a response. Choking up, she left the room, leaving Mary alone.

* * *

**_A/N: Thanks for those of you who have reviewed since I posted last, and for those of you who have marked this story as a favorite._**

**_I'm leaving tomorrow for Hawaii for two weeks, so don't expect another update until I get back. Hopefully, a lot more people will have reviewed by the time I get back! Enjoy! Save the pigs! The Pig Lady_**


	11. Chapter 11

"She just walked in?" Jessie demanded to know as she frantically scribbled down Anatomy notes before Professor Brandon switched off the slide. "She just walked in while you and Adam were having . . .?" Mary nodded, trying not to relive the embarrassing situation all while trying to avoid the professor's prying gaze. He hadn't been too happy that she had walked in thirty minutes late to class, and now, she was subject to his death glares. "What did you do? You must have been pissed."

"Adam left, no doubt out of embarrassment, and then she and my mother decided to gang up on me and scold me for being irresponsible. It was vaguely reminiscent of that scene in _The Lion King_ where all of the hyenas gather around and eat Scar." Jessie snorted, receiving another glare from Brandon.

"Have you talked to Adam yet?"

"No. I tried texting him from the subway, but he wouldn't respond – not that I'm surprised. He probably doesn't want to see me again. Ellie was really horrible to him." Jessie shook her head disapprovingly and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a piece of bright pink notebook paper that came flying up at them. Mary, eyeing the direction it had come from, was not surprised to see that the sender was Joanna Palmer. Jessie, following the path of her friend's eyes, proceeded to fake shove a finger down her throat as Mary unfolded the message and held it out so they could both read it at the same time:

_**Dear Mary and Jess,**_

_**My family is hosting a Christmas banquet at the Met this year, and I'd love it if you could both come! Some of the most important New York City families will be there, so you'll meet a lot of important people – all who have a lot of world experience and will make it easier to pave a career after graduation! Your families will be invited, too, of course, but my mum will be sending out the formal invites tonight. You can even bring a guest if you'd like – possibly Adam W., Mary? WINK. Hopefully, you'll consider coming. It's Christmas Eve, around 7:00 p.m. Dress code is formal, as to be expected. RSVP ASAP!**_

Mary and Jess exchanged knowing glances, and Jessie had to resist the urge to burst out laughing for the sake of making Professor Brandon pissed.

"She's so desperate!" she hissed in hushed undertones. "God, did you read that part about Adam? It's like her invitation to him makes her think you'll go." She looked down at the note. "And I quote, 'Some of the best New York City families will be there, so you'll meet a lot of important people.' End quote." She snorted under her breath. "It's like she thinks that she can buy our friendship." Mary eyed her best friend suspiciously, rather surprised that someone of Jessie's social status could even consider refusing an invitation to a banquet at the Met. Families like the Middletons usually relished in such an occasion; families like Mary's usually welcomed it with open arms, because the opportunity may never come again.

"I think we should go," Mary whispered. "It sounds really cool."

"Cool?" Jessie exclaimed incredulously, almost forgetting that they were in a university auditorium in the middle of a classroom lecture. "I think it's ridiculous. People throw these parties all the time. It's nothing to get excited about. Honestly, Mary."

"It's something for me to get excited about," Mary insisted. "Please, can we go, Jess?" She folded her hands together in a mock begging position, puckering her lip like a sad puppy. Jess did not appear impressed by Mary's "puppy dog" act, but smiled nonetheless.

"I swear to God, you're doing it just to spite me," she said, scribbling down another paragraph of notes.

"Of course I am," Mary confirmed in a joking manner, reaching over to pick up her pen so she could scribble a response to Joanna. Jess rolled her eyes, and faced the front, terminating conversation.

* * *

After her last class of the day, Mary retreated to the Steps with the hope of catching Adam – she hadn't gotten a hold of him all day, and she was fairly disappointed that they hadn't been able to meet for lunch to talk about what had happened that morning. The very reminder of the embarrassing ordeal was too much for Mary to think about, and she found herself shaking the memory away as thunder roared above her.

Still, what gave Ellie the right to interfere with Mary's personal life? What gave her the right to barge into Mary's personal space without permission? It was as if Mary had hacked her way onto Ellie's laptop to read the draft of her new (and quite possibly, lousy) novel – "invasion of privacy" were the only words to describe it.

She became aware of footsteps behind her, and spun around frantically. Adam stood there, eyeing her with a look of immense curiosity on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm so happy to see you," she exclaimed, standing up. "I was hoping to talk to you about what happened this morning. You have no idea how sorry I am – Ellie had no right at all . . ."

"Oh, please," Adam scoffed. "She's your older sister. She has every right."

"She didn't even give you a chance," Mary muttered under her breath, wrapping her arms around her shivering form. She hadn't realized it until now, but it had begun to rain lightly.

"So? I don't blame her," he said, taking off what looked to be his high school varsity jacket and draping it over her shoulders. "It wasn't the way I'd planned on meeting her, if you ask me."

"Are you upset with me?" she asked. Adam scoffed.

"Why would I be? It's not to be helped that you have a completely anal family – not that I blame them or anything." He smiled, and Mary felt her heart melt. How could Adam have the power to turn a completely horrifying, embarrassing situation into something so incredibly harmless?

"Good," she exclaimed. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something else . . ."

"Well, that's really great, Mary, but do you mind if we do it inside?" He motioned to the door of the café. "If we're not careful, we could get hypothermia." He smiled proudly. "We're learning about seasonal related conditions at the hospital this week." Mary laughed, and led the way down the Steps into the warm (and dry) Campbell Apartment. The crowd was slimmed down quite a bit, considering it was a Monday and most students were trying to get prepared for the week by choosing not to hang anywhere outside their dorm rooms or the library. In a way, Mary was thankful for this – it meant that she could talk to Adam without having to shout over caffeine-addicted college guys (or, in some cases, girls).

Once the couple had settled themselves in a booth in the back, Mary was prepared to let loose the news of the party at the Met. Truthfully, she wasn't sure whether or not Adam would go for the idea. If he was, in any way, similar to Ellie, the idea would be absolutely preposterous in his eyes, and he'd refuse to go. But if they were, in any way, compatible, he'd put her happiness before his own.

"Are you going to keep looking at me like that, or tell me what's going on?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. His gaze was incriminating, and Mary had a feeling that he could sense what was coming next.

"Do you know Joanna Palmer?" Adam nodded, pulling her closer to him. "She's invited both of us to her parents' Christmas banquet at the Met. I was hoping you'd want to go – as a couple." He laughed.

"I thought we were already a couple."

"We are, but this could prove it."

"I thought that your sister finding us in bed together this morning proved it." He winked rather seductively, and Mary had the sudden urge to terminate the conversation, screw Joanna's Christmas party, and find a bed so she could completely replay the events of that morning – minus the nagging sister. Her vision ended when Adam suddenly pulled away and eyed her with that same incriminating gaze he'd given her not a minute before. "So, would I be going to this party as Adam Willoughby, or as Mary Dashwood's plus one?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded to know, rather bothered by the comment.

"Well, I don't mean to burst your bubble, Mare, but I'm not exactly in with your crowd. People like you – you excluded – don't really go for guys like me."

"Well, she specifically asked that you attend." Mary gritted her teeth, wondering if the sentence was a lie. Yes, Joanna had indeed requested Adam's attendance, but only as an incentive for Mary and Jessie's own presence at the gala. "So, would you come with me?"

"Well, I don't know Mary. Parties like that have never really thrilled me." He was only teasing her, trying to build up the suspense, and Mary knew it. Rolling her eyes, she leapt up from the booth and gathered her books and tote bag, which was full of homework that needed to be completed by the next day.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, imitating anger. "I'll see you later, then." She prepared to leave, prompting him to leap up and grab her arm, laughing.

"I was only joking!" he exclaimed. "I mean, if you insist . . ."

"And I do!"

". . . I'll go. But only to make you happy." He pulled her closer and provided her with a tender kiss that made Mary's heart melt all over again. Pulling away, she found herself frozen in ecstasy, and nearly missed the abrupt goodbye that came at her a few moments later.

"Wait, where are you going?" she asked. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, motionless, but it must have been at least three or four minutes: Adam's handsome features were darkened by an aura of fear; his cell phone was flipped open in his hands, and he looked frantic to leave.

"What's wrong?" she asked, changing her approach since Adam was now the one behaving like one of the Greek statues in the main college courtyard.

"Emergency . . . must go . . . call you . . . later," Adam mumbled. Mary was a little frightened by his inability to spit out a full sentence.

"Is everything . . .?"

"Mary, I have to go!" he shouted, provoking her to draw away from him. Realizing his harsh reaction to her question, he sighed deeply and turned to the door. "I'll call you later, okay?" He didn't even wait for a response, but instead, turned and left right away.

* * *

The floor of the hospital was squeaky under his tennis shoes. He barreled past nurses and doctors, and patients like a high speed train, although it didn't feel like he was moving anywhere.

Reaching the third floor, where the maternity ward was located, he was in no way surprised to see the surly brow and angry expression of one of his college professors. This look of anger was entirely different from the look of classroom discipline he'd supply to misbehaving students, and all of a sudden, the young man had the urge to spin around and leave – leave the hospital, and all of his mistakes behind. But it was too late – the man had already spotted him, and was moving towards him at a brisk pace.

"I should've known that you'd be behind this," he spat out with contempt. "She's in there right now, and asking for you." He seemed disgusted by the young man's presence in the ward, yet held his tongue for the sake of disturbing the eager families waiting around them. Instead, the professor resumed pacing back and forth as a nurse led the young man down a long hallway to one of the delivery rooms.

A young girl lay on the bed, exhausted. She was breathing heavily, and didn't look up when he entered the room. He tried to recollect the last time he'd seen her – nearly two weeks before, when she'd showed up at his home and told him that he was going to be a father. He couldn't clearly remember the rest of the exchange, because he'd passed out right after she'd told him.

His attention was drawn away from the young girl by a nurse who was tapping on his shoulder. When he spun around, he noticed the bundle she was holding, and stepped away, alarmed by the sight of it.

There was a raspy voice behind him, one that he assumed belonged to the new mother in bed, which mumbled, "Don't be afraid. I'd like you to meet your son."

**_A/N: Much thanks to brazilian girl, who reviewed since I last posted. I'll try my best to satisfy your need for more Colonel Brandon, but there may be a lapse of a chapter or two._**

**_I started writing my modern Northanger Abbey (with feelings of angst strongly inspired by the ride back from Hawaii). And to whoever did my poll: Thanks a million, but since you picked the "You Make a Suggestion" bullet, it'd greatly please me to hear your suggestion._**

**_Keep reading! The Pig Lady_**


	12. Chapter 12

Ellie slammed the pan down onto the stove and massaged her temples with her floury fingers.

The prelude to the delectable batch of double fudge brownies that were currently smoldering in the oven, Ellie found herself slumping down to the kitchen floor all while resisting the urge to sob. Everything had been going so great just a few weeks before – she and Mary and Carol were actually getting along, like families were supposed to; her novel was really shaping up; and it seemed as if she had finally found the right guy for her. How could everything become such rubbish so quickly?

Now, all Ellie could look forward to was drowning her sorrows in chocolate, and that was even more depressing than the idea of being alone.

The phone rang abruptly, and Ellie rushed to rid her hands of the flour before answering. Truthfully, she didn't really want to talk to anyone – it was why she had been so eager to push Carol and Mary out the door that evening. Her best cure was peace, tranquility, and baked goods.

"Dashwood residence, Ellie speaking." It was at this inopportune moment that Ellie finally took into consideration Mary's constant complaints about the ridiculous greeting. It sounded so much like something one might find on the _The Brady Bunch _that she vowed, at that precise second, to stop answering the phone that way.

"Ellie? This is Lucie Steele, how are you?" Momentarily, Ellie mentally castrated Mark for handing out her home phone number so freely.

"Oh. Hi, Lucie." She tried to sound as unenthused as possible, so as to get off the extension faster.

"Listen, I feel as if our meeting this morning left a lot to be desired. How do you feel about going tonight and getting some drinks? It'd be like a girls' night out, if you're into those."

Frankly, Ellie was surprised by the offer. Even though she'd just met Lucie Steele – and the two minutes they'd shared together were certainly nothing special – already, the author had gotten the impression that her new publicist was rather snotty, and not incredibly interested in making friends. It's the type of professional behavior that Norland promotes, yet Lucie was rather stiff in her show.

"Well, I don't see why not . . ." It certainly was better than staying at home, wallowing in self-pity and gaining at least five pounds due to sugar intake.

"Great! I'm free in a half an hour, if that's all right. How about Scores, on West Twenty-Seventh?"

"Sure."

* * *

Ellie was at the bar at exactly seven o'clock, a half an hour after she'd first received Lucie's phone call. It hadn't taken long to get ready, yet upon arrival at her destination, she found herself to be a little underdressed in jeans and a New York University sweatshirt. The women that passed were in miniskirts and tank tops far too thin to be worn in November, and the men were hardly any exception in their leather pants and trench coats.

Lucie had already grabbed a table near the back, and had taken the privilege of ordering two tequilas probably loaded with alcohol and some play on a date-rape drug that would only make her queasy for an hour.

"Hi, Lucie," Ellie mumbled as she approached, fully aware that she wouldn't be heard over the jazz band that was playing on stage.

"I bought you tequila!" the publicist squealed over the music, offering the mixture out to her new client.

"Sorry, but I don't drink," Ellie exclaimed, pushing it away. Lucie looked a little hurt by what Ellie thought was a relatively harmless rejection, but had soon flagged down the waiter, who promised he'd bring a glass of ice water at his earliest convenience (which, judging by the size of the crowd, Ellie figured would be never). Once he walked, Ellie looked back at the drop-dead gorgeous woman sitting across the table from her.

"So, I can't tell - does this qualify as a strip club?"

"The owner is pretty lax on regulations when it comes to dress code," Lucie clarified. "The women in the skimpy skirts are what the men might call the entertainment." She smiled, and Ellie found herself totally uncomfortable all over again.

"Oh." She coughed. "Why do you come here, then?" Her question went totally unanswered, for Lucie began to take the conversation off in a completely different direction, and one Ellie didn't want to explore.

"So," Lucie began, "I heard you're a fantastic writer. I confess that I didn't read your first novel, but I really want to. All of my friends who read it told me it was great."

"Oh. Thank you."

"And you're absolutely gorgeous! All of your features are impeccable – so much so that I bet no one can even tell that you dye your hair. It looks absolutely natural, I swear." She held up three fingers in a mock Girl Scout promise that Ellie hadn't seen since her childhood in Miami, when the Dashwood siblings had joined the city's chapter of the very popular club.

"I don't dye my hair," she corrected, fingering the ends of her ponytail, embarrassed.

"Oh. Sorry." Lucie looked equally as embarrassed by the mistake, but covered it up with a sardonic smile. "Well, you're everything I expected you to be. I've been told that you're incredibly nice and loyal. I feel that we're going to be such great friends." She reached over and rested her hands on top of Ellie's, which were folded neatly on the table next to the tequila she was tempted to drink for the sake of her sanity.

"That's very sweet," she said, pulling her hands away, "but Mark is too generous in his praises of me. He really can't be trusted." She was only joking, of course, yet Lucie looked alarmed by the assumption.

"Oh, I don't hear this from Mark – no, these 'praises' come from another mutual acquaintance of ours, one who you've had great interaction with these past few weeks."

"Who?" Ellie asked with intense curiosity. Lucie smiled, satisfied by the reaction.

"Who do you think? Eddie Ferrell, of course."

* * *

Mary had only been asleep for fifteen minutes when her cell phone, which had settled itself in the drawer of her nightstand, began to buzz. Groaning deeply, she pulled her head off of her pillow and rubbed the exhaustion from her heavy eyelids.

When she had arrived home from Jessie's – where she had taken refuge for the evening after Ellie had unceremoniously shoved both her and their mother onto the doorstep – the house was empty. Ellie's messy handwriting was scribbled on the "Message Chalkboard" installed on the kitchen wall near the balcony door, reading: "_Gone out. Home by 11:00 p.m. –E.D." _Mary's initial reaction was one of shock – after all, Ellie NEVER went out on a Monday night. Her second wind was one of complete and total bliss – Carol was also out, there was a bottle of Heidegger in the fridge, and a Blockbuster case housing a copy of _Zodiac_ was resting on top of the television. It seemed the perfect opportunity for her and Adam to share some quality time together, even at ten o'clock, but when she'd called to extend the invitation, he hadn't answered his cell.

Now, at one o'clock, Ellie still wasn't home (neither was Carol, but at least that was to be expected), Mary was exhausted and scared out of her wits because of the movie, and her phone was ringing incessantly.

"Hello?" she mumbled wearily into the speaker.

"Mary? It's Adam." Mary perked up at the sound of his voice and the mention of his name, but her brightness quickly dimmed when she realized that his tone was not one of happiness. It was a combination of anger, embarrassment, and nervousness.

"Hi," she said, suddenly feeling shy. "What's going on? You sound upset."

"I got your message," he said, veering away from her question. "I'm sorry I couldn't answer. Something came up." She nodded, remembering his stranger behavior at the café earlier that afternoon.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She reached over to the lamp, and flipped the switch so that the room flooded with light. Wrapping her cable knit blanket around her shoulders, she burrowed her way into the pillows, preparing to get comfortable.

"No, I don't think so."

"Is there anything I can do to help – anything at all?" There was a faint static whine on his end, and she imagined him in the middle of a large building somewhere without decent cell phone service. "Where are you?"

"Nowhere," he said, but Mary knew he was lying. She looked down at her feet, which were sticking off the end of the bed. She hadn't realized it, but she'd forgotten to pull off her hot pink footies before falling into bed. Reaching down, she tugged the socks off and threw them across the room as Adam let out a large, apprehensive sigh.

"Listen, Mary." She sat up straight, bothered by the dramatic change that the tone of his voice had taken – it no longer appeared to be embarrassment, anger, or nervousness that was afflicting him, but rather, regret. Usually, when a boy uses a tone of regret on his girlfriend of only two weeks – on his girlfriend of any given time – nothing good came of it, and Mary was plagued by the idea of what might ensue because of the conversation.

"Some things are going to be starting up in my life," he continued, "that might make it impossible for the two of us to see each other from now on."

"What kind of things?" Quite honestly, Mary was a little annoyed with the exasperated sigh he let out after she asked this. If these 'things' were going to give cause to the termination of her relationship, she figured that she had the right to know what they were.

"It's personal stuff, Mary," he muttered under his breath.

"Is it because of Ellie?" He didn't sigh this time – he groaned.

"I thought we'd already talked about this, Mary," he exclaimed. "What's going on has absolutely nothing to do with Ellie, or you. It has everything to do with me, and I'm deeply sorry for that." Mary couldn't help but notice that he didn't sound very sorry at all. She bit her lip, trying to keep from crying – however, it was a fight that went unsuccessful, and pretty soon, she was pulling the phone away from her ear to keep Adam from listening to her sobs.

Still, she believed she had pretty good reason to be dramatic. It had only been two weeks, of course, but she'd believed in her heart that she and Adam were deeply compatible. Besides, everything had seemed to be so wonderful this afternoon – even after the morning's hiccup, things between her and her new boyfriend didn't seem very strained at all. How could things turn to such shit in the matter of a single afternoon – rather, in a matter of eleven hours? She didn't think it was possible.

"Mary," she heard Adam whispering over the line. "Mary, I'm sorry. I have to go."

"No, wait . . ." She could feel herself whining into the speaker, but she knew that it would do no good. In the next second, her ear was full of static whine, and in the next minute, she was sprawled out on the bed, drenched in her own tears and sweat.

She'd been dumped. She'd been dumped before, but she never knew that it could be so hard.

* * *

**_Next time: Lucie shares a secret! Thanks to those who have reviewed._**


	13. Chapter 13

Ellie sipped her tea with great ease, trying her hardest not to let onto the fact that Mary looked absolutely horrible. When she'd woken up that morning, her sister had planted herself on the couch in front of the fire, amidst millions of blankets and three packages of Oreos. She hadn't moved all morning, but Ellie was too exhausted from her evening with Lucie to try and light a fire under her sister. Quite frankly, what would it matter if she missed one day of classes? Ellie had missed a few in her day – if she continued to try and pretend that she didn't, she'd be one giant hypocrite, and that wouldn't help matters at all.

Carol entered the kitchen slowly, casting a glance at Mary through the cutout over the counter. She shook her head, blowing out a deep breath as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot.

"Has she said anything yet?" she asked her eldest daughter, who was still admiring the lifeless form on the couch. Ellie shook her head, sighing deeply.

"It hurts me to see her like this," Carol continued, moving across the room to stand next to Ellie. "You don't know what happened?"

"When I came home last night, she was in her room crying. She wouldn't come out at all, and I was forced to leave her in there by herself – she'd locked the door, and I couldn't get in." She looked over at her mother. "You didn't hear her when you got home?"

"No. She must've stopped by then." She set her cup down on the counter and faced Ellie. "Have you ever seen her so upset before?"

"Sometimes, she'll get like this when she and Jessie get in a fight, and maybe when her current boyfriend breaks up with her, but . . ." She trailed off. The expression that registered on Carol's face was one that signaled one of her customary flashes of brilliance.

"Do you think something happened between her and Adam?" she wondered aloud.

"It's hard to say if she's not talking," Ellie speculated. "It's always possible, of course." She leaned in towards her mother. "Maybe one of us should ask her." Carol stepped away.

"It should be you, of course," she exclaimed. "Oh, Ellie, I've only just come back into Mary's life. I doubt she'd want to talk to me about personal matters like this. She's so much closer to you."

"When we're not tearing each other's eyes out," Ellie snorted. "I'm sorry, but after what happened yesterday, I doubt that she'll want to talk to me about anything having to do with Adam. Or men in general, I suppose." She shrugged. "And, quite honestly, that's all right. Mary's personal drama is too much for me to handle." At the bewildered look on Carol's face, Ellie mustered up a laugh. "Oh, of course I _care_; I'd just rather not involve myself unless she comes to me looking for help."

Carol was about to speak, but Mary came walking into the kitchen at that precise moment, and she was forced to close her mouth.

* * *

_Could their love for one another – their undying love – be nothing more than a dream?_

Ellie eyed the paragraph she'd just written, her eyes welling up at the memory that followed it. It had been almost a full two weeks since she'd last spoken to Eddie, and she missed him even more each day. His absence had struck a chord with everyone, it seemed – even Mark, who very rarely showed any emotion.

She was jolted back to reality by the ringing of the doorbell. Assuming that Carol had forgotten her key again – since she was out of the house almost every day now – Ellie leapt up and quickly ran to the front door. When she pulled it open, the first thing she saw was a giant poster reading:

**Read about a love lost and love found in a new book by author Ellie Dashwood!**

**COMING MARCH 1ST, 2008!**

It was then that she was able to identify the industrious Lucie Steele, who had only just ordered the posters the day before yesterday.

"Aren't they great?" she exclaimed, shoving the large cardboard into Ellie's hands so she could further scrutinize the details of it. "They just came this morning! I had to show them to you, so I pawned your address off of Mark. I hope that's all right." She didn't even wait for an answer, but merely shoved her way into the apartment.

"They look good, Lucie," was all Ellie could muster up. By that time, the over-eager publicist had thrown off her winter ski jacket and moved farther into the apartment.

"We're putting one of them on Broadway, three in Times Square with a billboard, and we're going to litter flyers throughout the downtown area. Mark thought it would be smart to put a few up at NYU – to reach your most avid readers, and your peers." She smiled. "I just don't think it'd be right to encourage the administration to use your novel as a classroom text. I'm shocked that your first book was used in high schools – college and universities would be a step up the totem pole, but it's still ridiculous." She sighed deeply, and pulled out her Blackberry.

"Oh," Ellie muttered, still eyeing the poster. She watched Lucie, just in case the publicist tried to sneak a peek at her draft. "Well, it sounds like a good plan."

"Do you really think so?" Lucie smiled proudly. "I'm happy that you're satisfied, Ellie." She plopped down onto the couch. "I thought that maybe we could talk about what happened last night."

Ellie was quickly flung backwards at the mention of the girls' night out – after Lucie had brought up Eddie, and made it clear that they knew each other and were in touch, Ellie had hastily made up an excuse about Mary in order to leave. She wasn't sure what it was, but something about Lucie Steele bothered the shit out of her, and God forbid she was going to sit in a lousy club and drink tequila with a woman who brought up Eddie Ferrell at every minute she was allowed.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow you," Ellie said. "I apologize for leaving early, but my sister . . ." At least now, if Lucie saw Mary (who had moved back to her room after Carol had left for the day), her excuse would be credible. Sighing exasperatedly, Lucie frantically waved her hands in front of her torso.

"Oh, no, I understand completely." She folded her hands delicately, and, setting them in her lap, looked down at them with an air of self-consciousness surrounding her. It was the first time, in the couple of weeks that they'd known each other, that Ellie didn't detect an aura of supreme confidence surrounding the young woman. In fact, this new side of Lucie almost resembled innocence.

"I have to be completely honest with you, Ellie, because I mean it when I say that I have a gut feeling that the two of us have the potential to become great friends." Ellie forced a smile. "The reason behind my coming to New York City wasn't because Norland offered me a job. It was because I felt threatened by you."

"By me? But Lucie, I didn't even know you before you took a job at Norland," Ellie exclaimed, confused by the direction the conversation was taking.

"You knew Eddie, and that was enough," the woman admitted shyly. "Eddie and I met at Harvard. He worked for the _Crimson_, and I was a student aide working under the staff advisor. We were thrown together a lot, and . . . well, I fell in love with him." Ellie nodded in direct understanding. She was no stranger to Eddie's charm. She was writing a book based on it, for Christ's sake.

"But you see, mine and Eddie's relationship wasn't one-sided. He loved me, too." This was news to Ellie's ears, and she leaned in, thirsty for more. Lucie looked up, her eyes glistening with – what Ellie expected – were fake tears of guilt. "God, this is so weird. I've never told anyone else about my relationship with Eddie."

"I understand," Ellie encouraged, trying to sound soothing. Lucie stalled for a second, and then leaned in closer to Ellie, who was practically leaping in anticipation.

"Eddie and I have been engaged now for nearly three years!"

Ellie could feel her heart stopping. Lucie and Eddie – engaged? Was it truly possible that the one man Ellie had grown to love was engaged to the woman who believed they could become best friends? Heart thumping, she leapt up off of the couch and faced the mantle. The room was warm, and Ellie wasn't sure if it was because of the situation or the fireplace. She could hear Lucie sniffling behind her.

"It's just so hard to always be away from him for so long!" she continued. "The only reason I took the job at Norland was so we could be together – truthfully, I haven't seen him since he graduated from Harvard. We've only talked on the phone, you know. That's how I knew he'd even taken this job. I miss him so much, and I was heartbroken when I'd found out he'd left."

"And you were jealous of me because . . .?"

"He would always talk about you on the phone! Every time I called him, it was 'Ellie Dashwood this,' and 'Ellie Dashwood that.' He said any man would be honored to have you for a friend." The words resonated in Ellie's ear like the thumping heart haunted the man in _The Tell-Tale Heart_. A friend – that's truly all that Eddie considered her to be. And maybe it was a compliment for most people, but for Ellie, it was simply a wakeup call – he'd never had feelings for her. And now, she knew why.

"Well, kudos," she choked out. "I'm sure you'll make a beautiful couple." She was lying through her teeth, but hopefully Lucie couldn't tell.

"Oh, Ellie!" Lucie exclaimed, hopping up off of the couch and walking to stand next to her client. "Thank you so much, but you can't tell anybody. As of right now, you're the only person that knows. We haven't even told our families yet." She smiled. "I just know that Eddie would have wanted me to tell you. He always held you in such high esteem." Ellie smiled, hardly comforted by the sentiment.

The doorbell rang, and Ellie felt thankful for the interruption. Before she could leave the room (and Lucie's over-endearing grip over her), Mary came trudging down the hallway and made a move into the foyer to answer the door. Ellie looked over at Lucie to see her reaction, which she was having a hard time reading – she couldn't tell if the expression on her face was broadcasting curiosity or disgust.

Mary did look pretty bad. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, her entire face was splotchy, and she hadn't yet made a move to get out of her dirty pajamas, which were stained with drops of her tears. Ellie wondered to herself if she had looked the same way when Eddie had left, and prayed to God that she'd had a little more self-respect. This image was Mary Dashwood at her absolute worse – in fact, it was practically the Second Coming.

"Is that your sister?" Lucie asked, leaning in towards Ellie as Mary moved into the foyer to answer the door. Ellie nodded, but didn't speak. "What happened to her?"

"We're not sure," Ellie confessed, and hoped that Lucie wouldn't press her for any more information – she was too busy trying to listen to the conversation taking place in the foyer.

She was able to instantly recognize the voice of the slightly chubby Joanna Palmer, whom Ellie had only met once but heard Mary talk of constantly. Ellie had known the moment she'd met her sister's peer – at a Barton College fundraiser – that Joanna Palmer was an annoyingly perky and utterly desperate young woman that drove Mary and Jessie Middleton to the brink of complete insanity.

"Jessie told me what happened," she heard Joanna exclaim. "It's so horrible! To think that Adam Willoughby had the nerve to break up with you! And then, to not even give you a reason! God, what an asshole!" There was a break in the conversation, and Ellie assumed that Mary had muttered something in her unintelligible, "depressed" voice which prevented her elder sister from eavesdropping.

"Oh, of course, I understand completely," Joanna continued. "Well, when I heard that he'd dumped you – and over the telephone, does he have no self-respect! – I just had to rush over here. I can't stay long, you know, I've got a Creative Writing class in fifteen minutes, but I just wanted to pop over and give you something that I sincerely hope will cheer you up." There was another break in the dialogue. "It's the invitation to that Christmas banquet I told you all about yesterday in Anatomy. I thought you might feel better about coming if I brought it over here directly. It's just unfortunate, because my mother already mailed the invites and she sent one to Adam – I thought he'd be coming. The only thing we can do is hope that he won't RSVP. I'd love to deny him the right to come."

"Don't say that, Joanna," Ellie heard Mary say. She was shocked to hear her sister's declaration so pronounced, especially for someone who hadn't spoken all day.

"Why not? He broke your heart, Mary."

"He's so sweet. I believe him totally incapable of breaking anybody's heart, especially mine. I'm just upset because I feel so sorry for him – he sounded really desperate on the phone last night. I figured he was in trouble, and didn't want to put me in a bad position." Mary was lying through her teeth, and Ellie knew it.

"Oh, I hadn't even thought about that!" Joanna exclaimed loudly. "You're probably right, Mary! Oh, yes, that must be it. Then perhaps this party will be the perfect place for reconciliation! Oh, it's genius." Joanna clapped loudly. "I just hope he comes now, so that way you two can work everything out." Ellie figured now was the perfect time to make her entrance, if only to save Mary from the plague of a longer conversation with Joanna.

"Mary, who is it?" She moved into the foyer, and was blinded by Joanna's large smile. "Oh, hi, Joanna."

"It's nice to see you again, Ellie," Joanna exclaimed cheerily. "How's the second novel coming?" Mary rolled her eyes, not even bothering to turn away in case Joanna could see her.

"It's coming." She could feel Lucie at her heels, and turned to face her publicist. "Allow me to introduce my publicist and new friend, Lucie Steele." She could practically feel the happiness bubbling within Lucie at being pronounced as Ellie's friend – as if the confession session that had just taken place didn't prove that they had some sort of special relationship, despite the fact that it was forced. "Lucie, this is my sister Mary, and her friend Joanna Palmer." Joanna and Lucie exchanged handshakes, but Mary wouldn't even offer hers.

"What's this I hear about a party?" Ellie asked, genuinely curious. Despite Mary's annoyances towards Joanna, she'd heard a great deal about the parties that the monetarily-set Palmer family threw.

"It's my family's Christmas party," Joanna explained. "They're throwing it Christmas Eve, at the Met. Of course, you and Mary and your mother are invited. Practically all of New York City is invited!" She looked over at Lucie. "Perhaps you'd consider coming as well? I'd feel so horrible if you were left out of the fun. You could be the Dashwoods' plus one!" She nodded over-exaggeratedly as a way to convince Lucie that her social life would suffer if she didn't accept the invitation. Lucie eyed Ellie.

"Only if Ellie is all right with it," she said. "Thank you so much for including me."

"It's no skin off my nose," Joanna said. "Now that my 'Delivery Girl' role has been completed, I should probably head back to school." She opened the front door once more, and waved to the Dashwood women and Lucie before departing. Ellie resisted the urge to look over at her sister, who hadn't said a word since Ellie and Lucie had entered the conversation. Lucie's gaze shifted back and forth between the two of them, and – sensing the discomfort of the situation – moved to gather her ski jacket and the cardboard sign that advertised Ellie's new novel.

"I should really be heading back to the office," she said hurriedly. "I've dawdled too long. Ellie, I'll talk to you tomorrow, I think – Mark mentioned something about a meeting – and Mary, it was a pleasure meeting you." Mary didn't say anything, but simply left the room. Lucie followed Mary's retreating form, and did not break her gaze until she was convinced that the young woman was safely out of earshot. When she was convinced of this fact, she turned back to Ellie and took her friend's hands in her own.

"I trust you not to tell anybody of what I told you a few minutes ago," she whispered. "Please, Ellie."

"I wouldn't dream of saying a word to anybody."

"Not even your sister or your mother. It's crucial that there is no chance of this reaching Mrs. Ferrell's ears." Ellie wondered how telling Mary – who was convinced beyond reasonable doubt that Eddie loved Ellie – would possibly lead to Eddie's Jersey mother discovering the engagement. She was convinced that Lucie was just trying to enhance the effect of the news by making it seem as if horrible consequences would ensue if it they were found out. But instead of doubting Lucie, she simply smiled and convinced her publicist that she wouldn't tell a soul, even if keeping silent would kill her.

* * *

**_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming! The Pig Lady_**

**_Next: The Christmas gala!_**


	14. Chapter 14

**Adam, it's Mary. I was hoping we could talk about what happened the other night. I just don't understand why you can't be with me. So, please give me a call. I really want to talk to you.**

**It's me again. I know I called you yesterday, but you never called back, so I figured you just didn't get the message. Listen, I really think we should talk . . . so, please call me. I miss you, Adam.**

**Adam, why haven't you called me back yet? I saw you at school today, so I know you're not sick. Are you avoiding me?**

**Adam, it's been three weeks since we last talked. Please call me back. I really miss you.**

**What's going on with you, Adam? Why haven't you called? You can't avoid me forever, you know. Listen, it's only two weeks until the Christmas party that the Palmer family is throwing, and I know you're going. Maybe we can talk then, okay? I love you, and I'll see you soon.**

* * *

The Metropolitan Museum of Art – known as "The Met" to a large percentage of New Yorkers – is located on the east side of New York's famous Central Park. Ellie had taken Mary to the world-renowned museum shortly after she'd first arrived in New York City, and all that Mary could remember about the trip was how stunned she'd been to see so many mind-blowing masterpieces concentrated in one building.

This was the first party at the Met that Mary had been invited to, and she got the impression that they didn't happen very often because most people in the city didn't have the same resources as the Palmers - or as Donald Trump.

Tonight, the party was in the museum's central lobby, and Mary couldn't be more excited. Adam was going to be there, and the chances of the two of them being able to talk were high. As they bounded up the steps leading to the building, both Ellie and Carol grasped Mary's hands, as if she were a two-year-old child that was still learning how to walk and needed constant parental supervision. She eyed her old sister and her mother with increasing curiosity.

"What?" she demanded to know.

"Just worry about having fun tonight, Mary," Ellie advised. "Try not to dwell on your problems with Adam." Mary rolled her eyes and faced forward, wrenching herself from the women's grips.

"What Adam and I have aren't problems," she corrected. "It's just a small hiccup that will be resolved, without a doubt, tonight." She smiled brightly as they took their place in the line that was forming near the door. "He's going to be here, and I'm going to see him. It's going to be wonderful." She handed one of the beefy security guards the invitation, and deposited her purse into a bucket that was moving through a metal detector similar to those that might be found at an airport. Ellie had to snort at all of precautions that were being taken – granted, it was the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but the Palmers weren't exactly the presidential family.

Once inside, Mary was herded away by Jessie Middleton towards a group of their friends, and Ellie was called away from her mother by Lucie Steele, who had arrived almost fifteen minutes before.

"Oh, Ellie, I've just heard something horrible!" she exclaimed, pulling the young woman off towards an unoccupied corner of the room. "Eddie's sister is here!" Ellie could feel her heart move into her throat. Was it possible that Eddie was in attendance also?

"His sister?" she asked. "I thought she lived in California."

"She's been visiting her mother in Jersey for almost a week now. Apparently, she worked with Mrs. Palmer while she was still living in New York City, and she was invited to the gala tonight. What if she remembers me?" She looked down at her feet, twirling a stack of silver bangles that were too big for her dainty wrists. Ellie offered her a puzzled expression.

"I didn't know that you'd already met Eddie's family," she said. Lucie shook her head.

"Well, I haven't, but they know about me – they know my name, and they know that Eddie and I dated for a brief period of time. When we got engaged, Eddie managed to convince them that we broke up, because they really disapproved of me." She looked down at her feet. "They think I'm destitute."

Ellie snorted under her breath as Joanna Palmer made her way towards them with her parents and a snooty-looking, black-haired woman under her wing. Lucie looked away abruptly, nudging her companion in the side.

"That's her!" she exclaimed. "That's his sister."

As the group approached, Ellie was able to see the sibling resemblance between Eddie and his sister, Michele. They both had the same green eyes, and the same delicate features – although Michele's were masked by layer upon layer of expensive makeup. Altogether, she was a very attractive woman, but chose not to show her natural beauty because she probably didn't find it satisfactory enough.

"Hi, Ellie," Joanna greeted cheerily once the foursome had joined her and Lucie. "Hi, Ms. Steele." Lucie nodded, but didn't look away. Ellie cast a glance at Eddie's sister, who didn't seem at all fazed by the mention of Lucie's last name – maybe she didn't recognize her at all.

"Joanna, Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, it's nice to see you again," Ellie muttered under her breath.

It was clear where most of Joanna's personality originated from. Though her father was a stiff and hardly polite man, her mother was quite possibly one of the most annoying woman to have ever stepped foot into the state of New York. Elise Palmer had the privilege of marrying as a young woman, and to one of the richest men on the East Coast. She was slightly chubby, like her oldest daughter, but she still flaunted her figure as though she were a size zero. She wore extravagant clothing and jewelry, and never ceased to display her treasures, for they were the banners of her wealth.

The only time that Ellie had met Mrs. Palmer had been at the very same Barton College fundraiser where she'd first met Joanna, and the woman had ceased to stop speaking for the entirety of the evening. Ellie prayed that the woman had other guests to entertain, so she could escape a drawn-out conversation.

"Oh, Ms. Dashwood, it's so wonderful to see you again!" Mrs. Palmer exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of the people surrounding them. "Is your sister, Mary, here? She's so sweet – so nice to Joanna, and always so polite to myself! What about your mother – Joanna tells me that she's in town – is she here? I've been hoping to meet her before I leave – I'm going on a Caribbean cruise next month – and I wouldn't want to leave without meeting her. I've actually been meaning to call for some time now. Is she here?" Ellie barely managed to get out a nod before Elise Palmer had turned to Eddie's sister, who was eyeing both Ellie and Lucie with increasing disgust – if her upturned nose was any indication at all.

"For goodness sakes, excuse my manners! Ladies, this is a friend of mine – we used to work together before she got married to the handsome and wonderfully rich Blake Bethany – named Michele Ferrell." Michele turned to Elise and delicately touched her wrist.

"It's Michele Bethany now, Elise."

"Oh, of course." She smiled and laughed loudly, looking over at her husband who had yet to say a word. "It's so hard to get used to, especially since we haven't seen each other for so long. I was so surprised to hear that she was visiting her mother in Jersey – wonderful woman your mother is, Michele – and I knew she just had to come to the party tonight. I was disappointed to hear that Blake couldn't come – famous man, you know girls, directed so many great movies in his time – but a man of his age probably isn't up to traveling across the country in a tiny little airplane." Elise laughed again, only louder. It was so loud, in fact, that Ellie could feel her eardrums rupturing.

"And who are these women?" Michele asked, eyeing Ellie and Lucie.

"Oh, yes, I'd completely forgotten! This is Ellie Dashwood – a very well-known author in New York City, Michele, who wrote that wonderful book called _A Change of Seasons_ – and her publicist, Lucie Steele. As a matter of fact, I just learned through some sources of mine that Lucie also went to Harvard. Tell me, dear," Elise continued, turning to Lucie, "did you happen to know anybody from your school named Eddie Ferrell? That's Michele's youngest brother – she has an older one too, named Bob, who works for an insurance company. Tell me, Michele, is Bob coming tonight? I extended the invitation to him as well."

"He said he'd be coming," Michele exclaimed, looking towards the door. "He should be here soon. I'll make sure to bring him over to you when he arrives. In the meantime," she lowered her voice, her gaze drifting towards Lucie, "Ms. Steele, would you care to come with me to the powder room? I'm sure we can find something to talk about." She began moving away with the Palmers. Lucie, however, lagged behind for a second, spinning around to face Ellie.

"What if she realizes who I am?" she demanded to know. "Oh, I'd probably end up telling her everything, and Eddie would kill me if I did!"

"Try not to worry about it too much," Ellie advised. "If you stress about it, you're sure to spill it. Just try and act natural. I'm sure she won't remember you." Lucie nodded in agreement and walked away, breathing raggedly. She'd only been gone for a minute when Ellie was approached by a tall man who was a stranger to her.

"Excuse me, are you Ellie Dashwood?" he asked. Ellie nodded cautiously, but the caution wasn't needed one bit. He extended his hand, smiling.

"Phil Brandon, it's nice to meet you," he said. "I'm Mary's Anatomy teacher."

"Oh, yes! She's mentioned you before." Ellie didn't want to tell him that Mary didn't like him very much – she thought he was strange. "Just in passing, I mean, and about the class. She hasn't said much lately, though."

"I wouldn't expect so," he said. "I've just taken a leave of absence. Family obligations."

They were interrupted by the entrance of Mary into the group. "Ellie, I have to talk to you." She eyed her Anatomy professor, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him. "Hi, Professor Brandon." She looked down at her feet and began pulling Ellie away before he could say anything.

"I haven't seen Adam yet, have you?" Mary asked, scanning the room.

"I haven't been looking," Ellie admitted, somewhat bluntly.

"What if he isn't coming?" Ellie rolled her eyes, hardly caring whether or not Adam Willoughby showed up that evening. She was actually hoping that he wouldn't – that way, Mary would be forced to focus on something other than their prospective reconciliation.

Noticing Ellie's disinterest, Mary simply rolled her eyes and retreated back to her friends. Ellie was thankful for the moment of peace that she'd been granted – which, unfortunately, didn't last long, for she was quickly able to recognize the high-pitched voice of Elise Palmer approaching.

"Ellie! Ellie Dashwood, I want to introduce you to someone!" Sighing deeply, Ellie spun around. Elise Palmer was moving towards her with a stuffy looking man in a business suit trailing closely behind her, whose expression indicated that he'd rather be anywhere else but at the party. Just looking at him, Ellie was able to recognize him as Bob Ferrell – he had the same green eyes as his siblings.

"This is Bob Ferrell," she explained, motioning towards him. "Bob, this is Ellie Dashwood." The two shook hands, and Ellie felt herself rather uncomfortable by the man's piercing stare and hard grip. "Unfortunately, Bob, I believe your sister has gone to the bathroom with Lucie Steele. Why don't I go get her – she'll be so excited to hear that you've come – and in the meantime, you can dance with Ms. Dashwood?" She pushed them towards one another, and flounced away. Somewhat unwillingly, Bob took Ellie's hand and led her out onto the dance floor, where many couples had already started swaying back and forth to the music.

"So, I heard Mrs. Palmer mention that you work for an insurance company," Ellie said, trying to begin a conversation. "That's interesting."

"Not really," Bob muttered under his breath. "It's dull work, but it makes my mother happy."

"That's what your brother told me the first time I met him – about how your mother wanted him to be a lawyer, even though his real intention was to become a literary magnate." Bob looked down at her curiously.

"You know my brother?" Ellie nodded, wondering if she betrayed a piece of information that might come back to haunt her later. "Well, I'm not surprised that he brought that up. Eddie likes to talk about how horrible it is to live under our mother's thumb. I'm not saying that I don't feel the effects of it, but I don't purposely bring it into a conversation." Ellie smiled. "So, when did you meet Eddie?"

"Back in September. I'm trying to write a second novel, and he was working as my publicist for a short period of time. Unfortunately, he didn't do that much – he got a new job in Boston shortly after arriving, and had to leave. He was replaced by Lucie Steele, who you'll probably meet later on."

"Oh, of course."

Ellie had to resist the urge to yawn, but was quickly snapped out of her trance at the sight of Adam Willoughby moving onto the dance floor, with a young woman on his arm. She felt her feet halting in their tracks, and found herself watching him as he swayed back and forth, making small conversation with his date as they danced. Bob eyed her suspiciously.

"Is everything all right, Ms. Dashwood?" he asked.

"Yes, Bob, everything's fine," she insisted. Breathing deeply, she backed away from him. "If you'll excuse me, I must go to the bathroom. Thank you for the dance." She hurried out of sight in the direction of the bathroom, and – when she was convinced that she wouldn't be seen by the partner she'd just bailed on – moved back around the dance floor in the direction of Adam. His date had seen a friend of hers and had initiated a conversation, allowing him time to sneak away towards the buffet table.

Walking up behind him, Ellie found herself resisting the urge to spin him around and sock him in the face. This was the man responsible for all of her sister's unhappiness. How could he seem so careless when she was torturing herself over what she could say to him to get him back?

Coughing loudly, she tapped him in the shoulder. "I think we need to talk." He spun around, and nearly choked on the piece of cold shrimp he was currently stuffing into his mouth.

"Ellie!" he exclaimed.

"Come with me," she said, tugging on his arm. "I don't think your date will miss you." Adam let Ellie drag him across the room, towards the hallway leading to some of the major exhibits. Once she was certain that no one could see them, she turned to him and slapped him.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded to know, holding his stinging cheek.

"That was for breaking up with my sister," she explained, and then slapped him again. "And that's for coming here and flaunting your new girlfriend when you know that Mary is hoping the two of you will be able to work things out." He groaned deeply, and turned away from her.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he spat out. "I never meant to hurt Mary."

"Oh, that's bullshit and we both know it," Ellie spat. "You broke up with her without even telling her why. And then, when she tried calling you, you completely ignored her. What is it, Adam? Are you just a black-hearted bastard, or are you simply an idiot?"

"It's personal stuff, Ellie, and I didn't want to involve Mary." For the first time since they'd been talking, Ellie noticed how horrible Adam looked. His eyes were almost lifeless, and he looked as if he hadn't gotten a decent hour's sleep in weeks. For a second, she actually felt sorry that she'd slapped him, but that quickly faded away.

"You didn't want to involve Mary, yet you have no problem involving that walking plastic factory out there?" She motioned back to his date. "Who's the lucky lady, Adam?" He didn't say anything, almost as if he were embarrassed. "I should be thankful that you at least had the decency to break up with her before you started dating somebody else," she continued. "I'm pretty sure I would have skipped the slap and gone straight for the punch if I found out you'd been two-timing her."

"I never would have done that to her," Adam said, rather convincingly.

"Whatever." Ellie looked across the dance floor. Mary stood next to Jessie Middleton, scanning the room for any sign of Adam. She looked so desperate, so needy – it killed Ellie to see her hurting so badly, even if she was putting on a front to convince people otherwise.

Turning back to Adam, she folded her arms over her chest. "Are you going to avoid her the entire night?" She knew that he had seen Mary, because the corners of his mouth had turned up ever-so-slightly.

"I'm not sure I can talk to her," he said. "I feel guilty enough as it is."

Ellie shook her head, somewhat sympathizing for the man. However, she sympathized no longer, for in a matter of seconds, Mary's eyes had drifted towards the exact spot where they were standing. Spotting her absentee beau, she smiled brightly and shouted, "Adam!" He grimaced at the sound of her voice, but made no moves to escape. Ellie watched his smile turn into a frown as her sister moved across the dance floor at record speed, halting in front of them both. It was clear to her that this conversation could kill him.

"Adam, I've been trying to reach you for nearly a month now," she said, emphasizing her words. "Where have you been? Have you been avoiding me?"

"No, not at all," he said unconvincingly. "I'm sorry if it seemed that way." He looked in the direction of his date, whose head was spinning around frantically trying to find him. "If you'll excuse me, I have to return to my . . . my . . ." He broke off and made a motion to leave, but Mary's hand gripped his forearm.

"I thought we were going to talk," she quivered. He shrugged, and moved away, wrenching himself from her weak grip. She watched him go, tears beginning to form in her eyes. His second rejection was eating away at her, and it was clear to everyone. Sensing an onslaught of tears, Ellie gripped her sister and moved her towards the door. The party had ended.

* * *

**_A/N: No reviews? No reviews? Fine, fine, I won't take it personally. I've constructed an update schedule now that I've finished this story - expect one every Sunday and Wednesday (if I remember)._**

**_Just got back from a Leadership Conference in Chicago - I felt so lost without FanFiction! I'm so happy that I'm back!_**

**_Need I say it? I will - REVIEW! Please!_**

**_P.S. The bold stuff at the top . . . phone messages, if you don't know. It's my take on the letters she sent him in the book and the movie._**


	15. Chapter 15

Elise Palmer practically skipped up the steps of Chelsea Apartments, trying her hardest to avoid touching anything. Elise – a woman who'd been born and raised on the Upper East Side – wasn't used to seeing such poverty, although she knew the Dashwood family was far from being poor. She'd actually always wondered what Ellie's paycheck looked like – surely, a bestselling author was bound to have cash stocked up somewhere. Admiring the flickering light bulb in the hallway, and the vomit stains on the carpet in front of the window, Elise had to wonder the aforementioned cash wasn't put to good use, and invested in a decent living space.

She'd gotten the Dashwoods' address from Joanna's class directory, directly after ending the phone conversation which had given way to news which might just bring even more heartbreak for poor Mary Dashwood. Still, she figured that it'd be better to hear it from a friend's mother, as opposed to somebody who didn't give a shit and five cents about the effect it'd have.

She knocked lightly on the door labeled 2B, and waited patiently for a few seconds before knocking again. Ellie answered it as speedily as possible, carrying a mug of tea and a hot washcloth.

"Mrs. Palmer, what are you doing here?" she asked (rather rudely, Elise thought – but later decided that it was all right to give a bit of leg room to someone whose sister was nursing a broken heart).

"I came to see how Mary was doing," she said as charmingly as possible. "And I've come with news about Adam Willoughby, as well." Ellie moved aside to allow Elise to step through.

"I'm sorry it's not cleaner," Ellie apologized. "My mother does most of the tidying up, and she's visiting relatives for the rest of Mary's holiday break." Elise watched as her eyes moved down to the cup of tea she was carrying. "I'm going to take this to Mary quickly, and then we can talk." She moved down the hallway, turning back only to offer the guest one of the chairs in front of the fire, which was slowly diminishing.

Even though the apartment wasn't in direct accordance with her styling beliefs, Elise did believe that it had a documentary feel to it. It was like one of those apartments she'd see in the movies about underprivileged women who would eventually get married to rich men – cozy, cluttered, but still fashionable in its own unique way.

Ellie reappeared only a few moments later. "You'll excuse me, Mrs. Palmer, if Mary doesn't join us, but I don't think it's wise for her to hear about Adam Willoughby so soon after . . ." Elise frantically waved her hands in front of her, clicking her teeth at the same.

"Don't bother, Ellie, I certainly understand – after the way that young man treated her, absolutely horrible – it's probably wise that she doesn't hear this at all." She leaned in towards the young woman, who'd taken a seat on the couch. "I'd just gotten home from a nail appointment earlier this morning when a dear friend of mine – a Mrs. Wexford, such a lovely woman she is – called with some really horrifying news. She explained to me that she had some very important news for me regarding a friend of my daughter's. I tell you, my mind went straight to poor Mary – poor, lovesick Mary. You see, Mrs. Wexford works at Barton College as one of the guidance counselors – a wonderful woman – and she'd heard quite a bit of Mary's problems. Not from Mary herself, but from friends who were concerned for her well-being – as we all are, I tell you. She's such a nice young girl, with such wonderful prospects – it'd be a shame for this Willoughby character to tear it all away from her.

"Mrs. Wexford informed me that she'd been told by another student – anonymous, I'm afraid, although I tried to get a name out of her – that Adam Willoughby has just recently . . . well, asked the father of Alicia Grey - that woman from the party - permission to marry her once they graduate."

"To marry her?" Ellie asked.

"I was just as shocked! I even told Mrs. Wexford that it couldn't be true, because Adam only just broke up with Mary last month. But she remained quite adament, even saying that Mr. Grey insisted on the two of them marrying, though I don't know why - Alicia isn't pregnant, or I would have heard of it, and I can't think of any other reason why they would want to do it so soon. But it seems that Mr. Grey is very impressed with Adam's choice career - he's a medical student, as I hear it."

"Why would Mr. Grey even agree to it?" Ellie asked. "Neither of them can be any older than twenty-two, and Adam will still only be twenty-five when he gets out of medical school."

"Adam turned twenty-two last month, and Alicia is still only twenty-one – I had Mrs. Wexford check for me, because I was curious as well. I even tried phoning Mr. Grey - I know him and his wife very well, and they're both such responsible people, as is Alicia. But it seems that she and Adam have fallen totally in love with one another, and believe they're 'soul mates'." She scoffed. "My heart went out to Mary immediately, you know, only because she's been holding out such hope that she and Adam will be able to settle their problems. But there is no hope for reconciliation now, you know." She patted Ellie's knee. "I've said my piece, now I must be going. I knew I had to tell you immediately."

"Thank you for coming over, Mrs. Palmer," Ellie said gratefully. "I'm not sure how I'm going to tell all of this to Mary. She'll be devastated."

"It'll be better to hear it from you, as opposed to hearing it from anybody else."

* * *

Lucie Steele patiently knocked on the door of Ellie's Chelsea apartment, bothered by the loud sobs that were filtering through the crack under the door. No doubt, this had to do with the Mary Dashwood/Adam Willoughby drama that had threatened to completely ruin the Christmas Eve party for everyone - Lucie had the sudden urge to quickly run and escape before she became entangled in any more of it.

"Yes?" The door swung open, revealing a rather disheveled Ellie. Lucie smiled as politely as possible.

"Hey, Ellie," she greeted. "Can I come in?" Ellie moved aside to let her through, but Lucie found herself sidetracked by Mary's crying. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Ellie muttered sarcastically. "We just found out that Adam is . . . well, he's going to be getting married when he graduates." Lucie halted in her tracks. Even though she didn't much like hearing about Mary and Adam's relationship (it was all so tiring), this gossip was far too juicy to ignore.

"Married? When he graduates? How is that even possible?"

"We're not sure," Ellie muttered, herding Lucie into the living room, "but I was the one who was forced to tell Mary, and she's obviously not taking it well." She sighed deeply. "It's ridiculous, how attached she's become to Adam in the two weeks that they were dating, and the month that they weren't. It's like she needs his approval to breathe. Normally, Mary is incredibly independent."

"I didn't like Adam one bit," Lucie insisted. "I met him at the party for a brief second – the daughter of a friend of Michele's named Alicia Grey had brought him as her date."

"That's the girl he's getting married to," Ellie spat out. "She's still twenty-one, bordering on twenty-two. To think, that a marriage can be initiated at so young an age . . ." She faded off. "I'm sorry, Lucie, your visit must have a purpose. Excuse me for carrying on like this. Mary seems to occupy so many of my thoughts lately that it's difficult to talk about anything else." She smiled, and Lucie shook her head.

"No, no, I only wanted to come and see how you all were. I feel guilty that I haven't called you lately."

"You haven't missed much, to be honest." Scarcely a minute had gone by when the doorbell rang again. Ellie rolled her eyes and stood up, taking a second to cast a glance back at Lucie as she moved into the foyer. "This is the third time today!" she exclaimed loudly. "All of New York City must be ringing my doorbell!" Lucie smiled and listened carefully as Ellie opened the door. There was silence.

"Ellie? Is everything all right?" she called out, and moved into the foyer. When she saw the caller, the shock value tripled and she felt as if she were about to faint.

Eddie Ferrell, it seemed, had returned to New York City.

* * *

"Eddie, what are you doing here?" Ellie demanded to know. She was so incredibly surprised to see him - she even had to ask herself why he would come and visit her, considering he hadn't called once in the months that he'd been gone.

"I came back to see you . . ." he said, fading off as Ellie backed away from him quickly.

"I have company right now, an old friend of yours, I believe – Lucie, come in here!" Shaking, she backed away as far away from Eddie as humanly possible and smiled as Lucie entered the room, shaking. "It's Eddie Ferrell, Lucie." Lucie smiled and nodded. "Eddie, I trust that you know Ms. Steele." Judging by her tone, Eddie was able to discern that she knew about the engagement, and was not deeply pleased by it.

"Yes, I know her . . . a little." Ellie watched as the two lovers closed in on one another, and tried ignore the sound of her breaking heart. Her only consolation was Eddie's hostility – his inability to look Lucie straight in the eye, to even shake Lucie's hand – and she knew, in that moment, that although the engagement was still intact, his affection for her was not.

She'd been beating herself up the entire time, trying to figure out how Eddie could afford to flirt with her if he was not at liberty to do so because of his engagement. Now that she was seeing the two in this capacity, she came to the conclusion that Eddie was not in love with Lucie – so, maybe he did have feelings for Ellie. After all, why show up at his ex-client's apartment when he could go and see his fiancé? The only bad thing about the entire situation was Eddie's loyalty – he would not dishonor Lucie by breaking their secret engagement. He would not destroy the woman's only hope, even though he was unknowingly destroying Ellie's.

"How are you, Eddie?" Lucie asked shyly. Eddie gulped loudly, looking down at his feet.

"Very . . . very . . . fine, Lucie." He smiled shakily, trying to turn his head back to Ellie unsuccessfully - his attention was entirely consumed by the figure of his fiancee, who looked incredibly put out by his attitude. All previous feelings of jealousy she'd had about Ellie had returned, courtesy of the image of the man she loved and the woman nature had wanted her to hate being in such close capacity.

"Eddie?" The voice was raspy and low, and no doubt belonged to Mary. Ellie spun around to see her younger sister standing in the hallway, watching the threesome with great intensity. She looked even worse than she had the day after hers and Adam's initial breakup, but she still managed to put on a great smile when she saw the man that her sister was no doubt in love with.

"Hello, Mary . . ." He faded off when he saw her bloodshot eyes. "You look horrible."

"Thanks," she grumbled sardonically, moving forward to give him a hug. "Don't worry about me, though, what are you doing here? I thought you moved to Boston."

"I came down to visit my mother for the Christmas holiday," he explained, "but I couldn't leave without coming to see the two of you." He generously forgot Lucie for a moment.

"We've been well here," Mary said. "Well, Ellie and my mother have. I've been a little under the weather, to tell you the truth. But you don't want to hear about me."

"No, we'd rather not," Lucie muttered, annoyed.

"Ellie has been incredibly successful since you left! That's not to say she's been successful _because_ you left, but she's been working really hard. She's going to be putting out her new novel the first of March. Isn't that fantastic?" She looked over at her sister, who had ceased to say a word. "Just look at her, Eddie. She looks good, doesn't she?"

"She always does," Eddie agreed. He eyed Lucie, and looked away again quickly. "I'm sorry this has been such a quick visit, but I really have to go. Family obligations." He shrugged, and backed into the door. "It's been nice seeing you both again." Mary looked injured.

"What? You can't be leaving already!" she exclaimed. Turning to her sister, she gritted her teeth and motioned in his direction. "Make him stay."

"I don't have the authority," Ellie muttered. "It's been nice seeing you again, Eddie." It hurt her to see him go so soon, but she didn't want to be subjected to this awkward silence between him and Lucie in her own home. It would be to her benefit if she ushered him out the door as quickly as possible. Besides, maybe he'd call another day when Lucie wasn't around – then, she'd be able to enjoy herself a little more.

"Perhaps you'd share a cab with me downtown?" Lucie suggested, moving towards him with a flirtatious air about her that made Mary wrinkle her nose in disgust. Judging by the look on his face, Ellie could tell that Eddie would rather not, but he refused to turn her down.

"That sounds great," he said monotonously, and spun the doorknob as Lucie wound her arm through his. He cast a glance back at Ellie and Mary, who were watching him dumbfounded, and then departed.

It wasn't until he'd left that Ellie was able to breathe a sigh of relief – the worst was over. She'd seen him, and now, they could meet again as friends. Maybe it wasn't enough for her, but it had to be. He couldn't give himself to another woman – not now.

Mary eyed her sister curiously, and with waning disgust. "Why'd you let him leave? Jesus Christ, Ellie, the guy obviously came back to town to see you, and you treat him like he's not welcome." Ellie didn't bother to answer. Instead, she simply left the room.

* * *

**_A/N: I hated writing the beginning of this chapter - for the sake of any flames, I completely and totally believe that Adam's engagement was really abrupt. Therefore, let it be known that I won't be offended if you think the same thing. I just couldn't find another way to do it._**

**_Keep the reviews coming - the three that I received since my last update made my day! Thanks a million!_**

**_Coming Sunday: A confrontation, and more Adam Willoughby gossip! (It's so juicy, don't you think?)_**


	16. Chapter 16

Lucie Steele was sitting on her couch, watching an old episode of _Melrose Place_ when her phone rang. Hardly eager to answer it, she took her time standing up and trekking across her loft apartment in the direction of her kitchen alcove, where the phone sat on the counter next to her vegetable crisper.

"Hello?" she barked into the phone.

"Is this Lucie Steele?" The voice on the other line was very feminine, and sounded very dainty. Just hearing it, Lucie had the sudden urge to apply a coat of lipstick and spritz herself with that bottle of Chanel No. 5 she'd gotten from her older sister, Jennie, for Christmas.

"Speaking."

"This is Michele Bethany. We met at the Palmers' Christmas banquet." Lucie nearly choked in complete surprise, and momentarily wondered how Eddie's sister had gotten her phone number.

"Oh, yes, Michele! How are you? I hope your holidays went well."

"Surprisingly well, in fact," Michele insisted. "My mother was rather depressed, which spoiled it only a little. But I'm rather used to it – now that Eddie has moved back to Boston, all she can really do is grieve over him and his inability to deal with familial obligations." She groaned deeply. "Of course, he insisted on coming here for Christmas, the fucking prick, which called for even more tears when he left." Her laugh was loud and obnoxious. "Oh, excuse me, going on like this. I trust your holidays were well, also? Do you have family in the city?"

"No, I spent the holidays all by my lonesome." She smiled to herself, and wondered to herself if the call had a purpose. Now that Eddie was in town and had seen her, maybe he'd worked up the courage to tell his family of their engagement. Perhaps her character was being analyzed in this exact moment. Was she passing the test?

"Well, that sounds peaceful. I wish I had time like that – time to simply focus on myself." Michele let out a deep sigh, and Lucie could tell she was fumbling to form her next sentence. "I'm not sure if this is abrupt, but I was curious to know whether or not you'd like to meet me for lunch today? I'm only going to be in the city for a few more weeks, and I'd feel horrible leaving so abruptly without getting to know you better." Lucie blushed.

"That sounds wonderful, Michele! I'd be honored."

"Don't flatter yourself, Lucie, I'm not nobility." For a second, Lucie was embarrassed to have sounded so incredibly desperate. "How about noon, at the Shanghai Pavilion? I have a hankering for dim sum."

"That sounds perfect." She prepared to spill out a frenzied "goodbye" but the hesitation in Michele's voice indicated that she had more to say.

"Yes?" Lucie asked, trying not to appear overly anxious to get off the phone.

"I was just curious to know if you were particularly close to Ellie Dashwood. I understand that you're her publicist. It was the same job that was bestowed upon my brother before he chose to go back to Boston – another thing the two of you have in common, I suppose."

"Is there something you find disagreeable about Ellie?" Lucie didn't want to voice her opinions without being certain of what Michele's own were.

"Well, she's not exactly high society is she?" Lucie didn't know if it was rhetorical or not, and proceeded to keep silent. It was better than sounding stupid, after all. "I understand you're new to town, Lucie, and I just don't want to see you mixing with the wrong people. It'd be a shame to have your reputation completely destroyed. To be honest, I think that's why Eddie left the city in the first place – to get away from Ellie Dashwood."

"Really?" The thought provided Lucie with a little relief, and momentary enjoyment.

"Do I sound like I'm joking?" Michele scoffed, and fear gripped Lucie again – why did she always have to sound so incredibly ignorant? "I just want you to be careful. Keep your relationship with Ellie professional. I'm not sure if Eddie did when he was in the same situation – the idiot has always been such a whore. I tell you, he has put girlfriend upon girlfriend on the backburner. It's ridiculous." She laughed, but Lucie didn't find it funny at all. "Oh, listen to me, going on and on like this. I've given my advice. Be wise and take it."

* * *

"This place is so incredibly cushy, it's revolting," Michele complained, admiring the authentic Chinese atmosphere of the Shanghai Pavilion. Truthfully, Lucie thought it was cute, but she could see where Michele – a woman of "high society", as she'd put it, who dined with the likes of Wolfgang Puck every night back in Los Angeles – might get the wrong impression.

"Totally," she agreed, lying through her teeth.

"The only thing that's worth remembering this place for is the gorgeous waiters," Michele continued, gushing at the sight of a twenty-year-old male Asian waiter who was making his way towards their table.

They placed their order with haste, as if they had somewhere to be even though both of their afternoons were completely free. Once he'd moved away again, Lucie made great effort to make small talk, but the conversation quickly turned itself around once more, heading in the direction of a subject that Michele was particularly fluent in – men.

"Tell me, what do you think of the men in New York City?" Michele asked, leaning in towards Lucie so they couldn't be heard unless someone was purposely eavesdropping – as if the subject was embarrassing in some way.

"I haven't met that many yet," Lucie insisted, realizing that she had to tread carefully. "Not that I'm interested in finding anyone particular . . ."

"And why not? A girl as pretty as you are, you could get any man that you wanted." She winked. "There has to be _somebody._"

Lucie didn't know what came over her. Maybe it was Michele's inviting tone, or the way she'd said how pretty Lucie was, and how she could get any man she wanted – but it was certainly enough to make her throw caution to the wind. She looked down at her lap, trying to resist the sensation of a smile that threatened to emerge on her face. Michele could tell she'd hit the jackpot.

"Lucie, I hate secrets," she sang out. "Tell me."

"There is _one _man . . ." she faded off. "We've known each other for a while now. But his family is much better off than mine, and I'm not so sure that they would approve . . ."

"One look at you, and they'd learn to accept it," Michele insisted. "Tell me. Who is it?"

Lucie's heart was beating with such a force that she thought it'd pop right out of her chest. She leaned forward even more so, so hers and Michele's noses were almost touching. "It's your brother, Eddie."

Scarcely a second had passed before Lucie felt the stinging sensation of Michele's hand across her face.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk in with you?" Ellie asked, parking in the roundabout in front of the Barton College Science Department.

"I'm not a baby, Ellie," Mary spat out. "I can find my own way." She opened the car door, and proceeded to step outside. "I'll see you tonight."

"Call if you need anything!" Ellie managed to scream out before the door was slammed in her face. Begrudgingly, she watched Mary move up the steps into the building where her Anatomy class took place. Just the way she walked – slumped over, as if she didn't care – indicated that, despite the week that had passed, she still wasn't completely over Adam Willoughby. It was blatantly obvious that she might never be over him – she could be all smiles all the time, but it wouldn't be the same. There was a piece of her missing, one that only Adam could fill – one that he'd come to dominate in the two weeks that they had dated. Ellie had to roll her eyes at this fact – she didn't believe that a lifelong bond such as the one Mary believed her and Adam had could be formed in two weeks.

Shifting the car into gear, Ellie pulled it around the rest of the circle and found herself taking one of the available parking spots in the teacher lot. She didn't know why she was feeling so overprotective, but she was afraid that one mention of romance might send her sister into an emotional fit. Stepping out, she traipsed across the rest of the parking lot and up the steps of the building Mary had just entered into.

Her class hadn't begun yet, but Ellie could spot her sister chatting away with Jessie Middleton at the top of the auditorium bleachers. She looked relatively happy, given the circumstances – maybe Jessie was treading carefully on the subject of Adam Willoughby for the time-being. There was no way it could be avoided altogether, but for the most part, Ellie was thankful that Jessie had the common sense to not mention it until the shock had died down a bit.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Ellie was able to recognize the voice of Phil Brandon, and spun around to face him. He was carrying a giant stack of books and a black leather briefcase, both of which he was having enormous trouble balancing. "Oh, Ms. Dashwood. It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, Mr. Brandon," she said, trailing off as the man struggled with his books. "Do you need some help?" He smiled and laughed.

"Is it really so obvious?" She willingly took his briefcase, allowing him to grip the stack of books with both of his hands. "I just need to drop these off in my office." He motioned to a closed door across the hall from the auditorium. "I was actually hoping to talk to you as well. I figured you'd be shadowing Mary today." He winked, and led the way into his office.

"Don't you have to start class?" she asked, setting his briefcase on his desk.

"Technically, class doesn't begin for another fifteen minutes, and most students don't bat an eyelash when I walk in a little late." He motioned to the leather chair in front of his desk, and took a seat in his own chair. For a second, Ellie felt as if she were in the principal's office at her high school – sure, there were better furnishings and it certainly smelled better (not at all like dirty gym socks) - awaiting a lecture.

"I've been meaning to meet with you for a while now," Brandon began, folding his hands on the top of the table, "to discuss a very urgent matter that affects Mary directly."

"Regarding?"

"Regarding the relationship she was in – yes, I know all about her and Adam Willoughby," he added at the look on Ellie's face. "When one is a college Anatomy professor, you hear all sorts of things." He sighed deeply and ran his hands through his thick black hair. "Bear with me, please, Ms. Dashwood, I have to go back a ways.

"Many years ago, I was friends with a young woman named Elizabeth Morris – we interned at Cook County Hospital in Chicago at the same time, and we went to the same college. I'll admit that I was in love with her, but her family didn't really appreciate me because I wasn't Jewish – rather, because I didn't practice any sort of organized religion at all. They pulled Elizabeth – Beth, as everyone called her – from her internship at Cook County, sent her to another Chicago hospital, where she became a brilliant nurse and married a man from our college that I wasn't on the best of terms with.

"It was at this new hospital that she came down with a deadly form of cancer – not because of the hospital, though – and was granted only a few more months to live." His voice faltered for a moment, and Ellie could tell the subject was painful for him to discuss. "Begrudgingly, her new husband called me and asked me to come and visit her – he said that nothing would make her happier than to see me.

"I went to see her, of course. It was during that visit that she died – she was only twenty-five at the time. Her dying declaration, however, was that I become the legal guardian for her nine-year-old daughter, Abby, who she'd given birth to when she was sixteen. Of course, a man dreaming of becoming a world class surgeon can't really care well for a nine-year-old, so I promised that I'd look out for her, and instead she was passed to her grandparents."

"Why not her stepfather?" Ellie asked, briefly wondering what any of this had to do with Adam but choosing not to say anything.

"I found out later that she'd petitioned to divorce him, severing all his rights to Abby because he wasn't her legal father." He shrugged. "Anyway, many years passed and I kept my promise to Elizabeth. Abby is sixteen now." He motioned to the picture sitting framed on his desk. It was a school picture of a young woman with curly, strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. She had light freckles dotting her face, and wore a blue butterfly clip in her hair. "Almost a year ago – about ten months now – she ran away from her grandparents' home, and came to see me. She told me that she was pregnant – at sixteen."

"Like mother, like daughter," Ellie snorted. She instantly regretted it. "Oh, I don't mean . . ."

"No, I understand completely. That was my initial thought as well.

"We didn't know who the father was at the time. It wasn't until she was about eight months along that she recalled an encounter she'd had with a boy after a long night of drinking, shortly before she found out she was expecting. Therefore, we pinpointed the identity of the libertine father of this child . . ." He faded off, eyeing Ellie expectantly. It took her a second to realize what he was saying.

"No, it can't be," she insisted.

"Yes."

"No. Not . . . Adam Willoughby?"

* * *

**_A/N: Ah, one review. Alas, I am heartbroken. (But thanks Willa!)_**

**_Small side note: I have not, nor will I probably ever go to the Shanghai Pavilion in NYC. Therefore, all aspects of the restaurant and it's "revolting cushiness" are completely falsified to meet the needs of that aspect of the story. It's probably a really nice restaurant, but I simply Googled "Chinese restaurants" and thought the name sounded cool, so I used it._**

**_Okay . . . so, review please! Coming Wednesday: nuclear Armagaddon! (Teehee . . . are you curious? Even a little?)_**


	17. Chapter 17

Ellie entered the Norland Publishing, bordering on hysterics. Although she had been shocked by Phil Brandon's story, she figured it seemed like the sort of mistake Adam Willoughby would make. After all, she already knew that he was the type of guy who'd sleep with a girl he'd only been dating for two weeks – it didn't surprise her that, somewhere along the way, he'd experience a "lapse of judgment." At least now, she knew what his "personal problems" were, and she was suddenly rather thankful that he'd broken up with Mary in the long run. She didn't need the weight of his irresponsibility on her shoulders.

Storming up to Mark's fifth floor office, she found herself running smack dab into her publisher as he came down the hallway. The look on his face was a combination of concern, frustration, and quite possibly annoyance; he was carrying a glass of water, some of which had slopped over the rim of the glass and onto the cuffs of his white dress shirt. His hair was mussed, and his glasses were tucked into his shirt pocket.

"Ellie, thank God you're here," he spat out exasperatedly. For a second, Ellie believed that he was going to get down on his hands and knees and begin chanting in Hebrew; instead, he leaned against the wall and began breathing heavily.

"What's going on?" she demanded to know. "Is it nuclear Armageddon?" She laughed, mostly due to Mark's outward appearance – never before did he look so . . . unclean.

"Close to it," he muttered. Working his sweaty palm around her right hand, he looked left and right and began traipsing the length of the rest of the hallway. "Come with me." He pulled her into the staff lounge, dumping the water into the sink and stopping to take a breather.

"Mark, what the hell is happening?" For a split second, Ellie was genuinely concerned.

"It's Lucie Steele," he managed to spit out between long, drawn out breaths. "She's in an absolute uproar. We're all in an absolute uproar."

"Is she all right?"

"She'll survive, but she's been humiliated," he explained. "She has the intention of resigning from her post as a publicist, all because of some silly little spitting match she had with Michele Ferrell the other day." He smiled. "It's ridiculous, really, but I've made it quite clear that she can't resign until your book is out."

"Did she say what their 'spitting match' was about?" Ellie wondered, already knowing in her heart. Of course, leave it to power-hungry Lucie to "accidentally" spill her secret, and to time it so that it was "accidentally" spilled right after Eddie had left town again.

Mark leaned in towards her as if he were about to reveal some deep, dark secret. Although he seemed concerned for Lucie, he also seemed thirsty to reveal the information. "I didn't know about this before Lucie took the job, you can trust me on this – apparently, Lucie and Eddie are engaged."

"Really?" She tried her hardest to act surprised.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "I knew they knew each other from Harvard – and I'll admit it, they even dated for a while, but I thought they broke it off! At least, that's what Eddie told me. I didn't know that they were _engaged_." He said the word as if it were verbal poison.

"What did Michele do when Lucie told her?" She couldn't help it; she really wanted to know. Mark smiled.

"I know I shouldn't be laughing," he chuckled, "but it's really quite funny. According to Lucie, they were in the middle of the Shanghai Pavilion when Lucie decided to let the cat out of the bag. Michele slapped her and began screaming curse words at her – in Spanish! – and managed to drag her out to the street before the waiters could restrain her. They thought she was some deranged serial killer!" He laughed. "Michele Ferrell, a serial killer!"

"Is _she_ all right?" Mark shrugged.

"She began dropping names when the police came to pick her up, so she got off scot free, no charges pressed. I actually just got off the phone with Virginia Ferrell – Eddie's mother – and she told me that she's decided to disinherit him. He's on his own now. Let's just hope that the Boston job continues to pay well, or he's screwed."

"Disinherit? Because he's engaged to Lucie?"

"To be honest, Elle, he's had it coming to him for a while now. Virginia Ferrell is a hard woman to please, and Eddie's never really excelled in doing so. She's tried setting him up with woman after woman, but he's always gone against her will and dated whoever he pleases. Of course, most of those broads turn out to be losers anyway, which buys him a little more time. But in the end, he was going to lose it." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think it will matter much. Eddie's got a smart head on his shoulders; he's been doing well on his own for the past five years. Besides, Bob is a good guy. If Eddie ever does get in a spot of trouble, he won't leave him standing."

"What does Bob have to do with this?"

"Well, that's who Eddie's share of the Ferrell fortune went to. Michele has enough money, what with her marriage to the magnificent Blake Bethany, and she's too mean to ever have kids, so Virginia didn't think it'd be of any use to her. Bob is still young. He's got time." He shrugged again. "I just feel bad for Lucie. It's painfully obvious that she's in love with Ed. At this point, I'm not sure what's going to happen. Even if Eddie were to break the engagement, out of pain or embarrassment, it wouldn't change anything – Virginia went straight to her lawyer as soon she heard, and gave Eddie's share to Bob irrevocably. He won't get it back, no matter what he does."

"That's really too bad," Ellie mumbled. "But you're right. Eddie is smart. I'm sure he'll learn to live quite well without the money."

By now, Mark had refilled the glass to the brim with ice cold water and was standing in front of the door. "Do you want to come down with me? I'm sure that she'd like to see you." Ellie felt her head shaking as she gripped the strap of her tote bag.

"No, really, that's all right. You go ahead. I'm not sure that I can take the drama today." He smiled, waved goodbye, and left the room, reemerging only a second later.

"I'm sorry; did you come down here to see me?" She smiled and shook her head again.

"No. It was nothing important. I just haven't talked to you in a while." She shrugged. "But it's no big deal. I'll call you later, okay? Go back to Lucie."

"Are you all right, Ellie?" he asked, concerned. "You're shaking." She hadn't realized it, but she was indeed trembling – probably due to the fact that, now that the engagement was out in the open, Eddie was truly out-of-bounds.

"I'm fine."

* * *

Mary sat on the Steps after her final class had let out, looking out at the Hudson River, which had frozen for the winter. Jessie had just left, citing a huge Psychology exam as her reason for departing ("Got to study!" she'd said, rather too cheerily), and now, Mary was simply delaying having to find a cab that would give her a lift home, since Ellie had so obviously forgotten about her.

"Excuse me, but are you Mary Dashwood?" The voice that came from behind her, and certainly didn't belong to anyone that Mary knew. It was intriguing, actually, and Mary found herself whipping her head around to face a young woman her own age, with sleek black hair and green eyes. She wore glasses, but she didn't look the least bit like one of the nerds from Mary's Anatomy class. Her pleated corduroy pants weren't the tiniest bit wrinkled, and Mary found herself smoothing the seat of hers in an effort to not look so dirty.

"Yes," Mary answered, puzzled by the woman's interest in her.

"I'm Alicia Grey." She looked down at her feet, rocking back and forth all while trying not to lose her balance; it would be a hazardous thing, especially with all the ice that covered the ground. "I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable, but . . ."

"I don't want to talk to you," Mary found herself spitting out as she pulled herself up off of the ground and began moving in the direction of the café below her. "We don't have anything to talk about."

"I don't think that's true," Alicia insisted, following close behind. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Look, Alyssa . . ." Mary exclaimed, spinning back around. The young woman crossed her arms over her chest, looking rather put out.

"It's Alicia," she corrected.

"Right. I understand that you're engaged to Adam, and that's perfectly all right with me. We're done – finished, ended, _el fin_. I don't plan on trying to win his heart back, so you have nothing to worry about. But that doesn't mean that I have to talk to you – that doesn't mean that I have to like you, and that we have to become best friends. And we're not going to. So if that's what you expect to get out of this conversation, all that you're doing is wasting your valuable time." She didn't even wait to hear what Alicia had to say in response. She simply walked away, in the direction of the school's main gate, where she hailed a cab.

When she arrived home twenty minutes later, she heard Ellie stomping around in the kitchen. "Did you forget something?" she demanded as her sister walked out into the foyer, obviously alarmed by Mary's sudden appearance. Burying her head in her hands, Ellie slumped onto the bench under the coat rack.

"God, I'm sorry, Mary. I guess I got distracted."

"By what, a lobotomy?" She laughed. "Jesus, the way you were shadowing me this morning, I just figured that you'd be staking out in the school parking lot all day. What happened?" Ellie looked up at her sister innocently.

"Eddie is engaged," she began, "to Lucie."

Mary could feel her jaw touch the floor. For a second, she almost didn't believe it, but then she remembered her sister's behavior around Eddie when he'd come to visit them – cold and strangely uninviting. She had seemed so uninterested in Eddie the past few weeks. A thought crossed her mind, and she found herself backing away from her sister slowly.

"How long have you known?" she asked, treading carefully on the subject. She didn't want to sound accusatory, especially if Ellie had known longer than she was letting on to.

"Mary . . ."

"Did you first hear about it today, or . . .?"

"Lucie told me back before the Christmas banquet – the day that Joanna brought our invitation over, actually." She looked away. "I swore to her that I wouldn't tell anybody, not even you. It's been so hard, having to carry it around while not being able to say anything to anyone about it."

"Yet you've handled it so wonderfully." This was a little bit of unfair sarcasm, and Mary regretted it instantly. Ellie, recognizing the tone of Mary's voice, leapt up, angered.

"You don't even know what it's been like!" she exclaimed. "You have no clue what it's been doing to me this past month, just knowing about it – knowing that I'm never going to have a chance with Eddie; knowing that whatever tender moments we shared together while he was here weren't real at all. You don't know what it's been like, knowing that Eddie doesn't love me and probably never has. As God is my witness, Mary, if I didn't have so much other stuff going on right now – this book, and all of your personal drama – I could produce enough proof of a broken heart, even for you." She inhaled deeply, and slumped back down onto the bench, sobbing. Mary was shocked by her sister's dramatic display.

"I didn't know . . ." She trailed off as Ellie stood back up, gathering herself as she did so.

"It's fine, Mary. Just forget about it." She sighed deeply. "I have to talk to you about something, anyway." She motioned towards the living room. "Perhaps we should sit down." The words resonated inside Mary's chest, and she felt her heart rate quickening as the prospect of bad news loomed over her head.

"What's wrong?" Ellie looked down at her feet. "Just tell me, Ellie."

"It's about Adam. You see, I had a conversation with your Anatomy professor this morning, and he told me some interesting news about him . . ."

* * *

**_A/N: "By what, a lobotomy?" That's not mine, sadly - it's a line from The Perfect Man._**

**_Three more reviews brings us to 20 - yippee. Keep them coming!_**

**_I know a confrontation between Ms. Grey and Marianne wasn't written into the original book or movie, but I had to add it for extra drama. Juicy, juicy drama._**

**_Coming Sunday: Prelude to "The Fever." (little secret: it's not really a fever. Curious?)_**


	18. Chapter 18

Mary didn't know what had come over her. After Ellie had told her the "news," she'd stormed out of the apartment with the intention of going straight to Queens to confront Adam about the accusations. She sincerely wanted to believe that this was just a ploy of Ellie's, devised to pull her affections away from Adam and forget all about her personal heartbreak. The gesture, surprisingly, was probably meant to be a kind one – Mary could tell how much her reaction to hers and Adam's breakup was affecting Ellie – and it hurt Mary to know that she was being a burden. But she couldn't help how she felt.

But as she got closer and closer to the metro station, she found herself getting cold feet. She wasn't so sure if she wanted to see him; see him, and have to listen to him hastily explain everything. Besides, she really had no right – he'd gotten this girl pregnant before their relationship had even begun, and now, he was engaged to someone else. If anyone had a right to be upset, it was Alicia Grey.

Yet, Mary _loved_ him – she knew she did. Even though he'd royally massacred her heart, she loved him, and always would. He was addictive – a bad habit that she didn't have the strength to cure.

She noticed a bench on the sidewalk near the street, and slumped into it, trying to regain her composure. She was losing it, and this time, she wasn't trapped in the privacy of her bedroom; she was in the middle of a crowded street packed with tourists and New York City natives who, despite constantly seeing emotional trainwrecks on the street and sympathizing for them, would snicker about her with friends later. _"I saw this pathetic girl sobbing on the street today . . ."_ The thought of some khaki-clad out-of-towner making fun of her was really unbearable.

But she couldn't regain herself. The shadow of Adam Willoughby continued to hang over her, and haunt her – the shadow of his engagement, his unavailability, and this sudden pregnancy. Why did he have to get engaged anyway? How much did he really know about Alicia Grey? Why did she still want him when he'd been such an ass?

A thought crept into the back of her head – what if she wasn't good enough? Alicia Grey was rich, beautiful (in a nerdy, Jessie Middleton sort of way), and she'd keep him on his toes. Mary had nothing to offer to Adam except undying affection, and that wasn't enough in the world they live in. In fact, it was only laughable. It was starting to seem that every man who ever stepped into her life was now gone: jerky Derek, Adam, even her father. She had to wonder if there was something about her that was destined to frighten away the people that she loved.

The prospect of regaining herself was no longer in sight. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her tears burning holes in her cheeks. Pulling herself off of the bench, she dazedly walked to the edge of the sidewalk. The New York City skyline was visible over the low Chelsea buildings – a faint memory that not all things in the world were bad. As she gazed up at the twinkling lights, she was able to recognize the shadow of Adam's face. She could feel her feet moving towards it, even though she knew very well that such an image didn't exist in the real world. But it was so nice to see him again – to see him smiling, not frowning down on her.

As she thought this, she was able to recognize the sound of a horn blaring. She didn't know if it was blaring at her, but it was enough to pull her out of her trance. Looking around madly, she realized she was standing in the middle of the street – a street crowded with cars . . .

"Look out!" Someone managed to yell out at her just as a light shone in her face. Whipping around, she let a scream escape from her lips as her world went dark.

* * *

Ellie bit at the nail of her index finger nervously, eyeing the clock above the mantelpiece in the living room. It was almost six o'clock – nearly four hours after Mary had first left, and now it was getting dark outside. What could be taking her so long? She'd had no idea that the shock of Phil Brandon's news would make such a horrible impression on Mary. Where could she have gone?

Standing up to pace around the room, Ellie sincerely hoped that her younger sister would have the moral decency to call. She hated waiting in this type of anticipation.

Almost on cue, the phone rang out and Ellie leapt to attention.

"Mary?" she demanded to know.

"Will it disappoint you if I say that it's not Mary, but Eddie?" For the first time since he'd made his presence in New York City known, Ellie was actually relieved to hear his voice. It may not have been Mary, but there was something strangely comforting about it.

"Eddie, hi," she spat out, feeling out of breath. "I'm sorry for the way I answered the phone. I'm afraid that Mary ran out on me earlier this afternoon, and I have yet to hear from her."

"Oh. Perhaps I could call back later, so you can keep the line open?" he suggested.

"No, no, it's fine. Mary's never been one to call anyway. What's going on?" For a split second, the thought of Lucie Steele crept into her head – she had not been heard from since her engagement was scandalously revealed. "How's your fiancée? I hope she's well. Surprisingly, I miss her company." It was too true – although Miss Steele was the reason for all of Ellie's dashed hopes, she'd gotten quite used to the perkily annoying woman being around.

"I was hoping to talk to you about that . . ."

"What is there to talk about? It's not a big deal. Tell me, how have things been going? I'm so sorry to hear that you were disinherited."

"I'll survive. I've got that job in Boston, which doesn't pay well, but it'll be enough to live on." She heard his voice falter, allowing her time to step in.

"Well, if you ever need anything, I'd be happy to help. You and Lucie are two great friends of mine." She was lying only a little when she said this.

"No, you really don't have to . . ." He was quivering with nervousness.

"You're family has treated you so poorly that you're astonished to find friendship elsewhere." A resounding beep deafened her right ear, and she found her heart pounding again. Eddie heard it as well, and proceeded to say nothing in response to Ellie's comment. "I'm sorry," she continued, "but I should probably take that."

"Yes, of course." He coughed. "Thank you for your offer. I'll talk to you soon."

"Goodbye." She pressed the "call waiting" button on the white cordless, holding it back to her ear. "Mary, is that you?" The other line was abnormally fuzzy, suggesting poor signal, and the breathing was much deeper – it was obvious that this was not Mary. "Hello?"

"Ms. Dashwood?"

"Speaking."

"This is Jenny, from the Beth Israel Medical Center. I'm afraid that I have some bad news." Ellie could feel her throat closing with fear – this was her worst nightmare coming true. This was the phone call that she'd always dreaded getting, but had escaped thus far. Now, it was a blow she could not dodge.

"What's happened?" She wanted to appear as calm as possible, even though her insides were screaming.

"I'm afraid that your sister, Mary, was in an accident earlier this evening – she was hit by a car on West 28th Street." Ellie's heart was pounding in her ears as she grappled for the edge of the mantel to support herself.

"Oh my God. Is . . . is she . . .?"

"She's still alive, but in a very poor condition." The woman – Jenny – took a deep breath. "I'm the attending surgeon's assistant. Your sister is in Pre-Op right now. We were hoping that you'd come down right away." She let out a small, throaty cough. "It took us a little while to identify your sister – she was pretty badly mangled, and she had no ID on her." Ellie remembered Mary running out of the apartment, not even hesitating to grab her phone, a coat, or her wallet.

"How bad is she?" Ellie was almost afraid to ask.

"She's got quite a few broken bones and some cracked ribs. We expect she'll need to do a steady course of rehab for those, but that looks to be a minor problem right now. The force of impact was rather large, and she took quite a beating, if you don't mind me saying. I'm only preparing you, Ms. Dashwood, for we don't know for sure, but there may be some brain damage." Ellie cringed. "If we're lucky, it will only be a concussion that could keep her under for a few days." Ellie didn't consider this luck at all, but she would settle considering the alternative.

"What's this about surgery? Doesn't she need guardian permission?"

"She's not a minor, and with the condition she's in, we really couldn't wait. We're going to try and set some of her broken bones, and assess the internal damage."

"What would be bad?"

"Head injury, as I mentioned before, internal bleeding, any punctured organs. Our doctors won't be able to fix anything on the spot until they know the full extent of her injuries, but at least they'll know the problems and can begin to form solutions for them."

"Oh, of course."

"Ms. Dashwood, I suggest you call another family member or a friend and have them drive you to the hospital. I know this is very grave news, and I wouldn't want you to lose control on the road."

"Yes, I understand. I'll call and get down there as soon as possible." She wearily set down the phone and buried her head in her hands.

* * *

The first thing that Harriet Jennings noticed when she entered Phil Brandon's classroom was the amount of students that had failed to show up. Though the class wasn't small by any standard, the absences were apparent – and Harriet had a sneaking suspicion that most of the people that were gone were Mary Dashwood's friends. The news had first reached the ears of the staff around three o'clock that morning, when John Bailey had been awoken by a phone call from Elise Palmer, whose daughter Joanna had been called by Jessie Middleton, who had been called by Ellie and asked to pass the news along. All Harriet could remember was being thankful that Phil wasn't the most social person at Barton College, and thus, hadn't heard the news yet; but now, standing outside his door with the responsibility of telling him resting on her shoulders, she'd rather wished that he'd accepted John Bailey's invitation to go golfing over the summer, so that way, he'd be in the inner loop.

His expression of surprise at her sudden appearance indicated that he had not a sneaking suspicion as to the bad news that Harriet brought with her; he was completely oblivious to the fact that one of his students – quite possibly, a student that he was in love with – was lying in the hospital with her life hanging in the balance.

"Harriet, what are you doing here?" he asked, lowering his voice as he moved towards her. The students continued to scribble away at their papers, a detail that didn't go lost in the eyes of the head of the Committee for Teacher Review. He smiled at her pleasantly. "I've assigned busy work for today. I'm thinking that a quarter of my class might have contracted leprosy in the past twenty-four hours."

"Phil, I have some bad news." She thought it was a really shrewd and clichéd way to begin a sentence, but at the moment, her head wasn't screwed on straight enough to care.

"Hopefully, this is pertaining to the _real_ reason behind why over fifteen students are out of class today."

_Best to just say it,_ Harriet thought to herself._ Say it, and get it over with. He's a big boy. He can handle it._ She ran her fingers through her hair, which was shoulder-length and graying. "Mary Dashwood was hit by a car last night," she spat out quickly. She watched Phil's face fall as he worked to digest the bad news.

"Mary . . . hit . . . car?" he blubbered, unable to spit out a full, coherent sentence. "When? And why didn't someone tell me sooner . . . shit." He moved back towards his desk and gathered his coat. Once he'd completed the task of slipping his arms through the sleeves, he moved in her direction once more. The students watched with intensifying curiosity as Harriet moved in front of the door to block his path.

"Don't cause a scene," she warned. "You can't just leave in the middle of class, Phil, especially to go and see," she broke off and lowered her voice, "a student."

"She's not just a student, Harriet!" he exclaimed, and she felt herself cringing at the sound of this tone – the only other time she'd heard him raise his voice at her like that was when Elizabeth had been in the hospital, and she'd tried to convince him not to go and visit.

"She's your student, and the rules expressly forbid . . ."

"Fuck the rules, Harriet," he muttered under his breath, shoving past her and storming out of the room to the sound of thunderous applause.

* * *

**_A/N: How do you like the alternative to the fever? I think it seems more . . . modern, dare I say. My deepest apologies if Brandon's starting to appear like a pedophile again. Anyway, send me a review!_**

**_Coming Wednesday: Tales from the hospital._**


	19. Chapter 19

Mary looked absolutely horrible – for a second, Ellie had to wonder whether or not she'd been hit by a car or a steam shovel. Her normally delicate facial features had been bruised and cut by the crash; both of her legs were wrapped in casts, and her right arm; there was a bandage spun around her forehead; and her breathing was labored. Every couple of seconds, the heart monitor on her right beeped, indicating that – for now – her younger sister was still alive, despite the force of nature that had threatened her.

Ellie still didn't know too much about the crash, and the doctors doubted that Mary would remember anything about it when she woke up. All that she did know was that the driver had been speeding, and hadn't stopped or even put on the brakes when Mary wandered into the middle of the street; he'd hit her straight on, and had driven away immediately, although witnesses who'd seen the car provided the police with a description that allowed them to catch the guy a few blocks away. The asshole had gotten what he'd deserved.

Dr. Banks, the surgeon who'd operated on Mary twice throughout the night, stepped into the room from the hallway, where he'd been having a discussion with a nurse. He did a routine check of Mary's condition, making notes on his clipboard the entire time. He looked over at Ellie once the observation had been completed.

"She's not doing as well as I'd like," he explained carefully, as Ellie bit her tongue to keep from bursting into another round of sobs. "As long as we keep flooding her with antibiotics, she's stable, but this hospital doesn't have an endless supply." He made a motion to leave the room, but stopped again in the doorway. "You must prepare yourself, Ms. Dashwood. I'll be back in an hour to do another checkup." The silence that followed indicated that he'd left, and Ellie began sobbing again.

Only a few seconds later, she sensed the presence of someone behind her, and she hurried to wipe her eyes before turning around. "Yes?" she asked politely, trying not to let Mary's condition and its impact on her get in the way of her good manners.

However, when she saw Adam Willoughby standing at the end of the bed, she momentarily considered abandoning all thoughts of keeping her composure and acting kind.

"What do you want?" she demanded to know. "Don't you have a fiancé you should be doting on? Or, even better, a baby you should be doting on?" He rolled his eyes.

"Phil 'I'm-the-Man' Brandon told you about that, huh? Guess I shouldn't have trusted him to keep his big fat mouth shut. He's probably told half the college by now."

"For your information, Phil Brandon is twice the man you'll ever be," Ellie spat out against her better judgment – after all, she'd only had two conversations with the man. Adam sighed deeply and turned back to Mary, looking somber. Ellie watched him very carefully, noticing the genuine sorrow in his eyes.

"What's the verdict?" he asked, motioning towards her. "Is she going to be okay?"

"We don't know," she murmured. "Not that you're entitled to an explanation or anything. In fact, it might be best if you just left right now. I don't want Mary waking up and seeing you here – it wouldn't go over very well." Although Dr. Banks' input made it seem as if Mary wasn't going to wake up any time soon, Ellie wasn't one to lose hope so quickly. She made a move to push the nurse's call button, but Adam held out his hand and grabbed her wrist to stop her from doing so. His grip was full of anger, but not directed at her – she didn't even think it was directed at Mary. She was pretty sure it was directed at himself. "Let go," she ordered, wrenching her arm away from him. He smiled evilly, but Ellie wasn't one to be intimidated.

"You really don't like me, do you?" he asked rhetorically, moving around to the other side of the bed. "Look, I'm not asking you for much – I just want a few minutes alone with her."

"Over my dead body," she spat back. "You don't deserve it."

"I don't deserve a lot of things," he corrected. "I know I didn't deserve Mary. She was too good for me." Ellie didn't bother to disagree with him, so he continued. "But I really did love her, you know. It's just . . . complicated stuff, and most of it stems from that baby."

"'That' baby? You're talking about your own child!" Ellie exclaimed. He rolled his eyes.

"Look. I met him once, okay? It was the day that Abby had him. Then, Mr. B enrolled her in some private school for new mothers, and they both left the city. That's the end of it."

"Okay. I thank you for not getting Mary involved in your stupid, college-age parenting drama, but why the hell would you break up with her and then get together with Alicia Grey – get engaged to Alicia Grey? You felt better about involving her because she had the monetary resources to handle it?" Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. "That broke her heart – it made her feel as if she wasn't rich enough to satisfy you, that you'd just been leading her along the entire time for a good laugh."

"I wasn't leading her on. I told you – I really did love her." He sighed deeply, and took a seat in one of the chairs next to Ellie's. "My mom is a Conservative Republican. When she found about him – the baby – she threw me out of the house. I lived with my friend, James, in his dorm for a week before I met Alicia. And you're right – her parents have a lot of cash. But I really like her. Even if I don't love her, maybe I'll grow to." He sighed once more, and looked down at Mary, whose eyelids were fluttering. "Hey, she's . . ."

"It means she can hear us," Ellie explained. "It doesn't mean that she's waking up." She looked out the window at the streets of New York City. "Maybe you should keep telling her that you really did love her. After all, it was her love for you that put her into this bed. Maybe your love for her will bring her out of it." She stood up and moved towards the door, stopping only to turn around and look back at her sister – for some reason, she feared that if she left the room, Mary would die.

_It's time to let go, Ellie. She needs to do this by herself. You can't breathe for her._

Smiling at Adam, who was trying to hide his tears, she left the room, hoping that Mary truly could hear what he was saying – because she hoped, honest to God, that her theory was right.

* * *

Adam had only been gone for ten minutes when Phil Brandon arrived, huffing and puffing, at the revolving doors to the ICU. Ellie could hear him banging and crashing around in the hallway, trying to convince the nurses that he really did know Mary Dashwood. Jenny entered the room, with the disheveled Anatomy professor following close behind, trying to sneak a peek at the young girl in bed over the assistant's six-foot-five form.

"Ms. Dashwood, I'm so sorry to interrupt you like this," she began apologetically, "but this psycho says the he knows who you are." Ellie's head darted up, and she found herself lifted from her chair at the sight of Mary's teacher standing in the doorway to the room.

"Mr. Brandon?" She was nothing short of shocked to see him. "What are you doing here . . .?" She trailed off at the sight of his beet red face. "Did you walk here?"

He nodded, glumly, and Ellie could feel her eyes widening. "All the way from the college – five miles?" Ellie always remembered distances like this so cab drivers wouldn't cheat her out of cash. He nodded again, and Ellie's gaze darted back towards Jenny, who had moved a little farther into the room and was watching the exchange with blatant interest. "Don't just stand there!" Ellie ordered as Phil Brandon moved into the room. "Get the man an oxygen tank!" Ellie wondered if it was insensitive to be joking at such a time; but she needed a raise of spirits. Jenny rolled her eyes, her gaze following the man as he slumped into one of the chairs to catch his breath. She dropped her head down to Ellie's level and lowered her voice.

"Dr. Banks wouldn't like her getting all of these visitors," she muttered. "It can't be good for her, to have all of this commotion around her."

"I won't be long," Brandon insisted, having been listening in on Jenny's failed attempt to be quiet. Still looking suspicious, she trudged out of the room. Ellie looked over at Phil Brandon, who was watching Mary intently. He must have sensed her gaze on him, for his eyes darted her way. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked, flicking his gaze back at the deeply injured young woman in bed.

"She's stable for now," Ellie muttered, trying not to think about Dr. Banks' diagnosis – how much did he know, really? He could only see the medical angle of things – he didn't know that Mary was a fighter. At least, she thought so. Maybe if Mary had been a little more of a fighter, this wouldn't have happened.

"For now?" Brandon questioned. "What does that mean?"

Ellie couldn't identify what came over her – in one moment, she was desperately trying to convince herself that her sister was going to be all right, beyond reasonable doubt; but in the next moment, she was sobbing into her lap as Phil Brandon tried (and failed) to comfort her.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is it about Mary?"

"The doctor . . . he thinks that Mary . . . he thinks that she's going to die!" she wailed. "He doesn't think it's possible for her to pull through from this!"

"I . . ." He could feel his throat closing.

"I can't lose her!" Ellie interrupted. "She's the only thing that I have!" If Brandon hadn't been so heartbroken, he would have been touched by the sentiment. Pulling away, he looked her up and down.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Can I call anyone to come and stay with you?" He looked around the room, as if he was expecting a group of people to suddenly appear out of thin air. "Where's your mother? Shouldn't she be here with you?" This made Ellie burst into fresh sobs.

"She's in Albany, visiting her cousins!" she exclaimed. "I've been calling her all night, but I can't reach her! I mean, what if Mary does . . . you know . . . how would my mom be able to live with not having said goodbye? It'd kill her, especially with all of the shit that they left unsaid – about my dad, and why my mom left the States in the first place! And what about all of the shit that I've left unsaid? The last thing that I talked to her about was about Adam Willoughby and his fucking love child!" The expression on his face at this comment proved that he was pained by it, but Ellie continued. "Isn't that incredibly pathetic? I mean, I'm pretty sure that Mary and I haven't had a single conversation in the past two months that doesn't revolve around some aspect of her pathetic love life." She took a deep breath. "Sorry I just laid all of that on you. This has just been so incredibly stressful." She smiled weakly.

"Well, it's not definite that Mary will die. She's strong, okay?" Ellie nodded, and Brandon found himself walking towards the window. "I'm volunteering myself – because I'll drive myself absolutely insane with nothing to do here but grieve – to go and get your mother in Albany." Ellie was shocked.

"You'd do that?" she moaned. "You'd drive all the way to Albany?" He nodded.

"Mary needs to be with her mother right now. Besides, you shouldn't have to be here by yourself." He spun around to face Ellie's incriminating gaze.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, suspecting there were other intentions behind the man's actions. She didn't know what it was – but there was something about the way that he looked at Mary, the way that his eyes seemed to flicker whenever he managed to direct his gaze in that direction; the way he rushed over to the hospital as soon as he heard what had happened, the way he seemed to care about her relationship with Adam Willoughby. "I understand that Mary's your student, but that's all that she is – and you barely know me. So what's your interest in us?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes digging holes into him. He smiled slyly.

"My interest is in Mary's welfare," he explained, "as a member of the Barton College staff."

"But you seem to genuinely care for her. Why?" Brandon didn't know whether to say what he felt and sound absolutely crazy, or to stick to the moral philosophy that Harriet demanded he live by and say nothing. In some ways, his old friend was right – teacher/student relationships were expressly forbidden, and he didn't need a repeat of the Cook County controversy. He liked his job – he liked being a mentor to the students, someone that they could look up to without judging him.

But on another level, Mary's similarities to Elizabeth, his lost love, were too big to ignore, and he couldn't help but remember how he'd never gotten to tell Elizabeth how he really felt about her (it was, after all, "expressly forbidden") – there had been so many things that he'd never gotten to say to her. He didn't want to make the same mistake all over again – he didn't want to not do anything because he wasn't confident in his feelings for Mary. And that was enough to make him throw caution to the wind.

"I think that I might be in love with your sister," he spat out. "I know it's against college rules, but there's something about her – something unique, something genuine – that I can't stop thinking about." The look on Ellie's face was not one of anger or of shock – truthfully, he'd been expecting it – but of confusion.

"But you're her teacher." She trailed off.

"I understand," he mumbled. "I should go." He proceeded to leave, but was stopped by a small cough that he knew came from Ellie.

"You really care about her?" she asked. Brandon nodded, and continued on his way.

* * *

**_A/N: Well? What'd you think? Thanks for the reviews - keep them coming por favor!_**

**_Coming Sunday: "In dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own." (P.S. Albus Dumbledore will NOT be making an appearance in the next chapter, nor will Harry Potter be referenced. So . . . curious?)_**


	20. Chapter 20

_Mary was in a dark place. She fumbled around in the total blackness, looking for anything that would give clue to where she was. She couldn't remember much – but a giant light kept flashing across her eyes . . . and then there was a loud horn . . ._

_Suddenly, her hand grasped a cold doorknob. Turning it, she found herself flung into a brilliant blast of warm light. Sand squished between her toes, and she could hear the ocean crashing against a shoreline somewhere. It took a minute for the shock to set in, but Mary was able to realize that she was in Miami, at the beach house where she'd lived when her father was still alive._

WHAT IS THIS? _she asked herself as she flounced up the boardwalk to the back door. The house looked exactly as it had when she'd last seen it, driving away with Carol humming merrily in the driver's seat – it was a three story structure with white siding, brilliant green grass, and solar panels (added by Wendell in an attempt to "go green"). She'd never felt so much at home in her entire life. It was a rejuvenating feeling, to be back. Maybe she could stay for a while._

_The door was unlocked, so she pushed right through into the living room. All of the family's furnishings were still in place, prompting Mary to wonder if they'd ever left – if the last four years of her life had only been a dream._

_"Ah, it's about time that you got here," came a voice from the huge leather armchair where Wendell Dashwood used to sit every Sunday morning as he read the paper. The voice sounded very familiar, and Mary found herself circling around the chair to see who had spoken._

_She nearly fainted when she looked down upon the smiling face of her dead father._

_"Dad?" she asked. She looked around the room, as if expecting a group of people to jump out and yell, "SURPRISE!" Maybe she was being punked. Maybe she was on candid camera. "Oh, I get it," she snickered. "Come on Ellie, bad joke."_

_"This isn't a joke, Kitten," Wendell insisted. Mary could feel her heart rate pick up – "Kitten" was her father's special nickname for her. They'd never told anybody about it._

_"No," Mary insisted, refusing to believe it. "No, it has to be a joke. I mean, you died! You died of heart failure eight years ago." He nodded exuberantly._

_"Yes, I did."_

_"Well, then why are you here?" She couldn't believe she was asking – of course, he wasn't REALLY there. The entire thing was a dream. He looked up at her, his gaze incriminating and curious._

_"You don't remember anything?" he asked. She shrugged, turning towards the window. The Gulf of Mexico was visible, prompting a rush of adrenaline to shoot up her spine. She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked out on a body of water that wasn't the ever-dirtying Hudson River._

_"Remember anything about what . . .?" She trailed off, and he sighed exasperatedly._

_"About any recent events?" he suggested. She rolled her eyes, annoyed by the prying._

_"The last thing I remember before I ended up here is Ellie telling me about Adam Willoughby and how he'd gotten some girl – who still goes to high school, may I remind you – pregnant. That's it."_

_"Nothing after that?" She groaned._

_"Am I being tested or something? I mean, truth be told, Dad, you've been dead for eight years now – you really should have bigger things on your mind right now. As do I, considering I'm standing here, in this alternate reality, talking to you!" She __looked around. "Why am I here anyway?" He seemed hesitant to tell her what he was thinking, but it seemed as if the little angel on his shoulder won out in the end. He sighed deeply._

_"You're dying, Mary," he spat out quickly. She felt her stomach catapult itself into her chest._

_"What are you talking about?" she demanded to know. "I'm fine! This is only a dream." He shook his head._

_"No, I'm afraid it's not. Right now, you're lying in Beth Israel Medical Center in a coma. When Ellie told you about that despicable son of a bitch that you used to date – Adam Willoughby – you left to go and confront him about it. Do you remember that much?" She nodded weakly, the images slowly coming back to her. "You were hit by a car as you wandered into the middle of the street. Now, you're on the brink of life and death." He was silent, prompting her to make a small noise in her throat._

_"Dad, am I . . .?" She couldn't bring herself to say 'dead.' He shook his head._

_"Not yet."_

_"But, you are . . . and you're here, aren't you? I mean, how could you be here if I'm not dead?" He laughed and slumped back into the armchair._

_"Mary, you've been dying for months now," he admitted. "I've been watching. Besides, part of you has never really let go of me, I think - now, you're here, frightened, and I ease the load." She looked around, breathing deeply._

_"But why the beach house? Why did I choose to meet with you here?"_

_"The beach house was where you were the happiest." He motioned to a picture of Carol, Ellie, and Mary that sat on the mantle. Mary only remembered it vaguely – Wendell had taken it during their trip to Disney World, only a few months before he'd died. It had been the last big family trip. "This was where all three of you were the happiest." He looked down at the floor. "It was never my intention to leave the three of you so soon."_

_"We all died when you died. Mom moved to Africa, and abandoned me with Ellie in New York City. We didn't want you to leave." A tear dripped down her cheek. "I'm not ready to leave, Dad. But I will, won't I?" She looked up at him. "Am I going to die? I mean, just so I can be prepared." He shrugged._

_"The future isn't set in stone, Kitten. Even though you're medically incapable of doing anything about your condition, you still have the mental power to change." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "You can start changing it by cutting yourself off from that Adam Willoughby." She laughed._

_"I can't believe you know about that."_

_"If I were still alive, I'd beat his scrawny ass for treating you so horribly." He let his hand fall to his side. "I mean, what happened, Mary? You were always so strong. Now, you're just letting go. You don't care anymore."_

_"I guess I just wanted someone to love me," she said. "It never really seemed like anyone truly loved me." She shrugged. "I guess he never really loved me at all. He got someone pregnant, he got engaged, he broke up with me – it was ridiculous, really. It was like I needed his approval to continue living my life – like I needed his acceptance."_

_"A lot of people love you, Kitten," he insisted. "You just have to open your ears." Almost on cue, she was able to hear a faint echo and ringing. As she listened closer to place the source of the sound, she noticed her father look at his watch – the same watch she'd given him for his forty-fifth birthday. "It's time for me to go now," he explained. Embracing him, Mary found herself sobbing again. It was the goodbye she'd never gotten the chance to give him._

_"Goodbye, Dad," she mumbled._

_"Goodbye, Kitten," he repeated. "You can open your eyes now." Mary once more became immersed in total darkness. The ringing and the echoes became more profound, and she was only able to translate a full sentence before she became overcome by an intense twitching sensation. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes."_

* * *

"Open your eyes," Ellie ordered. "Please Mary. Open your eyes."

* * *

Slowly, the image of a hospital room dissolved around her. She blinked a few times, just to make sure everything was real. Her eyes continued fluttering as they grew accustomed to the lighting, and she was able to recognize Ellie's sleeping form, slumped over in one of the two chairs across the room from her bed. She lifted her hand to reach out to her sister, but was surprised to find that it felt as if it weighed over a hundred pounds. Realizing that this approach wasn't going to bring success, she began coughing as loudly as possible.

Only a few seconds had passed before Ellie became aware of this, and she leapt out of her chair at the speed of light. "Mary? Mary, are you awake?" Mary didn't respond, being unable to speak or nod her head. She blinked a few times as Ellie sobbed onto her shoulder. "I was so afraid you weren't going to wake up!" The commotion was enough to bring Jenny into the room.

"Ms. Dashwood, what's . . .?" Her expression melted into one of shock when she noticed that Mary was awake, and her hand instantly moved to the small, black pager attached to the waistband of her pants. "I'll get Dr. Banks down here immediately."

Before she could move from the room, another nurse had walked in. "Ms. Dashwood, there is a woman and a man waiting for you at the nurse's station. They said they came from Albany . . .?" She trailed off.

"Mom!" Ellie leapt up and raced out of the room. Sure enough, Carol Dashwood and Phil Brandon were waiting anxiously at the nurse's station. Carol's hair was damp, suggesting that she'd been pulled from the shower when Brandon had arrived with the bad news. When she saw Ellie nearly galloping down the hallway, she let out a moan and ran to embrace her oldest daughter.

"I'm so sorry I didn't receive your calls! Please, is she going to be okay?" Carol pulled away, tears in her eyes.

"She's awake."

Phil Brandon let out a deep sigh of relief, and buried his head in his hands as Ellie led the way back to Mary's room. She was still lying there on the bed, possibly confused as to why everyone was acting as if a third world war had just ended. Carol ran to her bedside, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

"Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry," she wailed. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I'm sorry I ever left you and your sister for Africa. I'm sorry I was so weak - but you always seemed stronger, Mary. You always have been." She buried her head in her daughter's shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything, baby."

Then it came - a whisper, barely audible except to those truly listening for it: "I forgive you, Mom."

* * *

**_A/N: Well - there it is. Mary wakes up. Was it good? Review, please!_**

**_Only two chapters left! I can't believe it! I just cranked out a few ideas for an "Emma" fic last night while I was watching "The Devil Wears Prada", so maybe I'll start posting that in a few weeks. This isn't the last of The Pig Lady!_**

**_Coming Wednesday: Alluding to Mary/Brandon, and a past character returns._**


	21. Chapter 21

"Homework tonight is page three hundred, questions one through three – due tomorrow." The class groaned emphatically, and Brandon forced himself to smile. It was now the middle of May, and the end of the year was approaching quickly – students were getting restless, especially the ten seniors in the class. "Quit complaining," he ordered. "It'll take two minutes, tops. If you have any common sense about you, you'll go back to your dorms and do it immediately." He grinned. "Now, get out." Still groaning, the class leapt up from their seats and piled out of the room as quickly as possible.

It only took a few moments for the auditorium to completely empty. Brandon wasn't eager for the next mark in his schedule – a two hour lecture session followed by a public ostracization at the hands of a class disappointed with their homework assignment. As a matter of fact, nothing about his job was full of anything to be eager for anymore – since his hysterical outburst the day after Mary's accident, he'd been put on probation. When he'd confronted Harriet about it, she said that it was her duty to the school to report his conduct to the Administration Office. Now, a member of the Committee for Teacher Review was present in the auditorium during every class he taught.

It had been almost four months since Mary's accident, and she had yet to return to school. He knew that Jessie Middleton had been collecting her homework for her, so she still had hopes to graduate. He only hoped that she was able to succeed – maybe her success would give him some sense of accomplishment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his reviewer – a woman he recognized as Corinne Austin – stand up and stretch. He looked away immediately.

"Excuse me, Mr. Brandon?" He looked up once more, and noticed Jessie Middleton standing in front of him, eyeing him expectantly.

The change in Jessie since Mary's accident was apparent. She didn't seem to care for personal appearances anymore, her grades had been dropping slowly (he had once been convinced that Jessie Middleton could never get anything below a B, but she had proven him wrong), and she'd grown much quieter and timid.

"Yes, Ms. Middleton?" he asked. She produced a thick stack of papers from her tote bag and set them on the corner of his desk.

"This is all of Mary's missing work," she explained shyly. "Is there anything else you want me to take to her?" He shook his head, tucking the papers she'd just handed him into a folder he kept in his top desk drawer. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Corinne Austin had been listening to the conversation – her ears had perked up at the mention of Mary's name. He looked back up at Jessie, ignoring the staff member.

"If she's done the makeup tests with her tutor, there's nothing else for her to do except study for the final at the end of the month. Hopefully, she'll be back in time to do the practice assignments with the entire class." He smiled comfortingly. "How's she doing?" Jessie shrugged.

"She's in physical therapy twice a week now for one of her legs – her right one, I think, because her left one healed really quickly – but the surgeon says that her improvement is tremendous, considering the diagnosis she received four months ago." She smiled. "She's really motivated – she wants to come back to school."

"Does she remember anything?" Jessie shrugged again, fidgeting with her tote bag.

"It comes back in flashes," she explained. "She knows what happened before the accident, and directly after it – like, lying on the pavement in pain, and people yelling to call for an ambulance – but she doesn't remember how she ended up in the middle of the street, or why she didn't move when she saw the car." She looked towards the door. "Sorry, Mr. Brandon, but I've got to go." She began walking away.

"Thank you, Jessie, for the update!" he called out to her. "Tell Mary I said 'hello.'" He made sure he said it loud enough for Corinne to hear.

* * *

**_ANNOUNCEMENT:_**

**_Ferrell-Steele Wedding Wedding Album!_**

**_Manhattan Elite Marries Harvard Grad - Pictures Inside._**

Ellie eyed the cover of the ratty magazine with contempt. Turning it over so she wouldn't have to continue to torture herself by looking at the cover, she catapulted it into the trash can across the room. She didn't want to read the article – she didn't even want to see it. Because, as if the engagement announcement wasn't enough, the story was only further proof that her relationship with Eddie was over, if it had ever existed. It seemed she had enough proof to fill New York's biggest landfill - she was tired of it.

"Are you all right, Elle?" Carol asked.

"Of course," she insisted, rather unconvincingly, as she dumped the contents of a Campbell's soup can into a pot on the stove. "I was okay with Eddie getting married a long time ago."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Mom, I'm fine." She wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. "I'm going to go and check on Mary." After leaving the kitchen, she made her way down the main hallway, trying not to think about Eddie at all. She had spent enough of her time grieving over losing his "love" – these days, she had bigger things to worry about.

Mary sat on the futon in her bedroom, her right leg propped up on a chair in front of her. She was reading a copy of Ellie's new book, which had been on the shelves in March, despite Mary's accident.

"Is it good?" Ellie asked, edging towards the bed. Mary closed the cover, breathing deeply.

"It's fantastic," she exclaimed. "I love how you portray the heroine's suffering. But the ending – why didn't she end up with the guy?" Ellie shrugged.

"They just weren't meant to be," she explained lamely. "He loved someone else." Mary narrowed her eyes, swatting at her sister with the book.

"So, is it about you and Eddie, or me and Adam?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Maybe it was about both of us," Ellie admitted.

"At least Eddie loved you," Mary mumbled under her breath. Ellie set her hand gently on her sister's, wondering to herself whether she should have revealed that Adam visited the day after her accident. Maybe it would have helped to quell Mary's bad opinion of him – but did he deserve it, really, after breaking her heart?

"Eddie's heart always belonged to Lucie." She sighed deeply. "You know, dearest, Adam really did love you. He told me so himself. But his mother forced him to leave the house when she found out about the baby, and he had to turn to Alicia for financial support. It was never because of you." Mary shrugged.

"Surprisingly, I don't really care anymore. I think I stopped caring about Adam when I willed myself to die because I couldn't achieve his acceptance."

"You don't know that's what happened!"

"No, but let's be honest, Ellie – I went to see him that night, to confront him about a child he'd conceived before we'd met. I suppose I didn't want to have to see the proof of his past relationships because I wanted him all to myself. I was desperate for someone to love me, Ellie. And I was a slug those last few months! I made your life miserable, just like he made mine."

"You don't compare your behavior to his?" Ellie would be appalled. Mary shook her head.

"I compare it to what it should have been – I compare it to yours." She smiled lightly and looked back down at the book cover. "It's really great, you know. I can see that it'll be another _New York Times Bestseller_. And I'm sure that, wherever Eddie is, he's wishing the ending was different, too." She closed the book cover again and stretched her good leg in front of her. "I thought that I might go back to school on Monday."

"What? But – is it too soon?" she sputtered, shocked by the decision.

"It's been four months, Elle!" her sister exclaimed, lunging for her crutches, which were propped up against the wall next to the futon. "Besides, I'm tired of you feeling like you're responsible for me." She stood up, turning away Ellie's help. "I want to see my friends . . ."

"Jessie comes by everyday!"

". . . and be outside . . ."

"We can go out on the balcony! Or walk down the sidewalk outside the building!"

". . . and see Professor Brandon," she admitted shyly. For the second time in a matter of minutes, Ellie was stunned into silence. Mary took her lapse of speaking as an opportunity to continue. "He's really not as creepy as I thought he was – he's actually kind of sweet, I suppose. I mean, drove all the way to Albany for me."

"But he's your teacher."

"Just for a few more weeks," she winked as she hobbled into the hallway. "Besides, he's got a Harrison Ford quality about him, don't you think?" Ellie shuddered, and Mary laughed maniacally as she moved into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her. The eldest Dashwood female couldn't help but sigh exasperatedly at Mary's unalterable sensuality. Even a speeding car couldn't prevent her lusting after half the men in New York City.

"Ellie, will you answer that?" Carol called from the kitchen. Ellie had to listen carefully for the buzzing that came from the front of the apartment, signaling the arrival of a visitor. She quickly bounded into the foyer and lugged open the front door.

Eddie stood there, looking rather underdressed, given his usual "collared-shirt-and-tie" ensemble – he was wearing khaki shorts, black Converse sneakers, and a Harvard University T-shirt. His dark brown hair was wildly out of control, as if he hadn't had the time to run a comb through it that morning.

"Eddie? What are you doing here?" she demanded to know. He held out a copy of her novel.

"I saw it on the shelves. I thought I'd come by and congratulate you." He was fidgeting nervously, and Ellie felt so sorry for him that she moved aside to let him. She tried to locate a wedding ring on his finger as he passed, but he kept his left hand securely hidden in the pocket of his shorts. Carol entered into the hallway, with Mary trailing close behind on her crutches. Both smiled when they saw who the visitor was.

"Eddie!" Mary squealed happily. He eyed her crutches curiously.

"What happened?" he asked, genuinely concerned. She shrugged, disinterested in retelling the story.

"Oh, nothing, I just got hit by a car," she explained, in such a tone that made it sound as if her accident had, indeed, been nothing. "But I'm doing perfectly well." Ellie jumped in.

"I meant to call and tell you all about it, but I read in the paper, and the magazines – well, I didn't want to impose on you at such a time." Eddie looked confused, but smiled as if he knew what she meant. Carol eyed the two of them suspiciously, and Ellie turned her attention to her mother.

"Eddie, surely you remember my mother. You only met once before you had to leave for Boston, and you never had occasion to see her when you came back." He smiled and nodded.

"Of course I remember," he said. Carol smiled politely.

"How is Mrs. Ferrell?" she asked, despite her eldest daughter's disapproving glance. "Ellie meant to call and congratulate so many times, but with Mary's little accident, she never got around to it. She's enjoying her new home, I hope?" Eddie cocked his head, eyebrows raised in confusion.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand – my mother is still in Jersey." Carol shook her head.

"No, I meant to ask about _your_ wife." There was silence for a few moments, as all three of the Dashwood women eyed Eddie, waiting for an answer that he didn't appear equipped to give. His gaze moved back and forth between the three of them, as if he were trying to decipher an inside joke that all three of them were participating in.

"We saw the magazine," Ellie explained. "We heard about the wedding." It took a second for Eddie to comprehend this clue, and he soon laughed.

"Then you mean my brother's wife." Now, it was the women's turn to be confused. "If you'd read the article – which you clearly didn't – you'd know that Lucie married my brother, Bob. Not me." He looked down at his feet. "When Bob found out how badly Lucie had been treated by Michele, they got together and started hanging out and . . . well, they took the wedding, and I got my job at Norland back." Ellie looked over at Mary, whose grin expressed an aura of supreme satisfaction, and then back at Eddie.

"So, you're not married?" He shook his head, and Ellie let the flood of tears flow freely down her cheeks. She slumped down onto the floor, sobbing, knowing that the other three people standing in the foyer with her were probably watching her like she was absolutely crazy. It was in that moment that she knew – that very moment that she knew that, despite all of the months it'd taken to convince herself otherwise, she was still completely and totally in love with Eddie Ferrell. Through her sobs, she could hear Carol and Mary retreating back into the kitchen, and seconds later, she sensed Eddie's presence beside her on the floor.

"When I met Lucie, I was young and stupid. I asked her to marry me because I wanted to spite my mother, not because I loved her. I never meant for any of it to hurt you, and I certainly never expected – that is to say, I never planned on falling in love with you. And I certainly had no idea that you'd fallen in love with me." He motioned to the book. "I read the ending, and I realized that I didn't want to be that guy, Elle. I didn't want to let a great girl get away." He smiles softly, and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "I couldn't let you get away. Because although my dignity may have belonged to Lucie, my heart always belonged to you."

She didn't hesitate – she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. It was what she'd been waiting for since she'd first met him almost a year before. It was the moment she'd been waiting for her entire life - not where she could kiss a great guy who loved her (her!), but where she finally felt in charge of her future.

* * *

**_A/N: One chapter left! Send over the reviews! What'd you think of Eddie and Ellie's reconciliation? Sorry if it was a little corny._**

**_Special shoutout to Shinko (if you're reading this) - that Harrison Ford thing was totally for you!_**

**_Sunday (last chapter): I'm not telling, because it's a chapter of my own creation, not inspired by the book at all, and I want it to be a surprise. So, mark your calendars!_**


	22. Chapter 22

The small hand that grasped Mary's was struggling to break free, as it was dazzled by all of the colors and excitement that Navy Pier had to offer. Truthfully, Mary was a little excited as well – it'd always been her dream to go and see Chicago, especially since she and Phil had established their relationship as being truly serious.

"Auntie Mary, Auntie Mary, I want to go and ride the Ferris wheel!" Her four-year-old niece, Maggie, squirmed, and nearly stained the front of her blue sundress as she ice cream she was holding slumped off the cone in the July heat. By luck, however, it only managed to fall onto her chin. Phil, who was standing next to Mary with his arm around her waist, laughed at the sight, while Jessie scooped down to pick up the toddler, who was making a further mess by spreading the cream on her chin all the way up to her cheeks and forehead.

"I am warrior!" she chanted.

"Damn straight," Jessie muttered, getting a disapproving look from Mary at her use of a swear word in front of her niece. "Mary, Ellie is going to murder you. She really wanted Maggie to look nice for the ceremony." Mary rolled her eyes and lunged for the stack of napkins she'd shoved in her purse at the Baskin-Robbins counter.

"It's a spur-of-the-moment elopement on Navy Pier," she exclaimed. "How nice does the spawn really have to look?" She wiped the little girl's face, despite complaints. Noticing that she still had a sticky look about her, Mary realized that it wasn't too hard to miss and that Ellie would indeed murder her when she saw it. At the mention of the ceremony, Phil looked down at his watch.

"It's almost two o'clock," he stated. "We should probably get going."

It took the foursome about five minutes to get from one end of the pier to the other, even with Maggie insisting on stopping so she could go on some of the rides. The adults were all in quite a hurry, not wanting to miss the ceremony that had been put off for five years already.

By the time they arrived, the ceremony was nearly set to begin. Phil, Mary, and Maggie settled in the front row – compiled of five seats – with Carol and Michelle Ferrell, who had begrudgingly accepted the invitation only to represent the entire Ferrell clan; after all, Eddie's mother had adamantly refused to attend, and Rob and Lucie were too busy with their multimillion dollar insurance agency to travel down to Chicago for the weekend. Jessie seated herself in the second row – also compiled of five seats – with Mark Schaeffer and his wife, who didn't look too pleased to attend the wedding of the woman her husband maybe had feelings for, Anne Hudson, the Norland Publishing intern who'd been promoted to editor, and Abby Morris, who'd brought her five-year-old son David along. Truthfully, Mary didn't know why she'd been invited other than to please Phil Brandon; at the hotel the night before, Ellie said it'd been for good measure. "Besides," she added, "I'm really quite eager to meet the young woman that was raised by my future brother-in-law." Mary had rolled her eyes at this, although she was secretly hoping that the day might come where she could have the perfect happy ending Ellie was getting.

Eddie had managed to arrange for a Justice of the Peace to do the actual ceremony – unfortunately, the man who would have been in a black suit was dressed in a Hawaiian print shirt with Bermuda shorts and black Adidas flip flops. His wardrobe had seemed to completely change since they'd first met with him in his office downtown three days before, but Mary thought the ensemble fit for the atmosphere of the occasion.

The ceremony only took about ten minutes, and Mary was convinced that she could make it through the entire thing without bursting into tears. But by the time they'd reached the vows, she knew that the fight had gone to a complete waste – the floodgates were opened, and she was reaching for one of the Baskin-Robbins napkins that were still tucked into one the pockets of her purse.

She could hardly believe that five years had gone by – five years since her accident, since Eddie had nearly married Lucie, since the Adam Willoughby fiasco. Everything had changed so much since then. What had begun as a strained relationship with her sister had blossomed into a friendship she was supremely thankful to have found; she'd come to be thankful for her mother's retreat to Africa after their father's death, for she wouldn't have grown closer to Ellie as a result; she was happy to have reconnected with her mother, having grown to forgive her for her mistakes considering she'd made some pretty horrible ones as well; and she'd found her potential to be great, brought out by one man who had rejected her and one man who she'd rejected at first, but had grown to love. All it really took was some prodding, and Mary had allowed herself to welcome quite a bit of it.

"Unless anyone present has cause for objection – by the power vested in me on this overwhelmingly hot July 4th, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The justice smiled. "I believe you know the drill." Both Eddie and Ellie laughed as they moved in to kiss each other. The guests cheered for the newly married couple as Maggie rushed up to her parents and allowed herself to be pulled into their embrace. Mary couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the gloriously happy family.

* * *

"You did what?" Ellie demanded to know, tugging at her daughter's dress, which was now stained with the remnants of their pasta dinner. Married for only five hours, and a mother for five years, Ellie couldn't help but be stressed out at the sight of the dirty outfit. Under her breath, Mary giggled. Eddie snorted.

"I made a painting!" Maggie declared.

"Margaret, dearest, it's not a painting if it's made on the front of your dress," Ellie declared, momentarily forgetting to call her daughter 'Maggie,' as the tot had demanded everyone do when her aunt had first used the nickname. "Come on, we have to go and clean you up." She grabbed her daughter's hand (the one that wasn't totally covered in tomato sauce) and proceeded out of the dining room in the direction of the bathroom. Eddie stood up, pecking Mary on the cheek, and followed his wife out of the room, saying, "We'll be right back."

Mary was now alone at the table, the rest of the wedding guests having returned to their hotel rooms or, in the case of the Schaeffer's and Michele Ferrell, to the airport so as to return to New York City and California respectively. She reached for the cloth napkin sitting on Ellie's chair, making a motion to sop up the mess that Maggie had made on her chair. However, a hand that placed itself on her shoulder quickly stopped her.

"Mary? Is that you?" She recognized the voice instantly, and had to resist the urge to take the butter knife and plunge it into the speaker's heart. Successful in this, she took a deep breath and spun around to face the nervous, yet anxious form of Adam Willoughby.

The past five years hadn't been kind to him. His hair was already beginning to gray; his eyes were lifeless, and his face was sunken and expressionless. She didn't imagine that all of this had been because of her, but for a split second, she believed it was, and was satisfied.

"Adam. What are you doing here?" His hand, which he'd held out for her to shake, fell back to his side.

"Job interview at Cook County tomorrow." He shrugged. "I'm staying at the hotel, actually. Wow. It's great to see you. What are you doing here?"

"My sister – Ellie, remember? – got married today." She didn't make any effort to sound particularly enthused by his appearance; judging by the look on his face, he could tell that she wasn't very happy to see him. "Speaking of marriage," she continued, "how's Alicia?" He rolled his eyes.

"She ran off with some underwear model two years ago. Sent me the divorce papers last week." He smiled. "Listen, Mary, if you're not seeing anybody, maybe we could get together when I get back to New York City. Go out for drinks and reminisce about the good old days, or something." He looked down at his feet. "I've really missed you, you know." She stood up, grabbing hers and Ellie's bags.

"Sorry, but I don't think that's going to work out," she explained. "But good luck with that interview."

"Wait . . . what do you mean?"

"I mean that I am seeing someone," she explained. "Phil Brandon, to be exact." He seemed shocked – and who wouldn't be, with their age difference – and immediately snorted.

"Phil Brandon? Our college Anatomy teacher? You're dating that old guy?"

"For your information, he's not old, and he's twice the man you'll ever be." He hung his head.

"Your sister said that to me once." Mary shrugged.

"My sister has always been smart." She made an effort to make the table seem somewhat presentable before departing. "Well, it was nice seeing you again, Adam, but I'd prefer it didn't happen again for a very long time. Good luck at the job interview. I hope you get it and move very far away from me." She sent him a strained smile and immediately left the dining room.

Once she was out in the lobby, she slumped down into one of the couches and tried to replay what had just happened. Adam Willoughby had asked her out on a date, five years after he'd broken her heart, and she'd turned him down. _She'd_ turned _him_ down. This wasn't like the old days, where she would've done anything to go out on one more date with him, to feel him touch her one more time. And thank God for that.

Thank God for that.

* * *

**_A/N: Well, there it is. The end. It's been a wonderful journey, and I thank all of you for reviewing and for reading and just being plain wonderful - it really made me want to continue on with the story._**

**_I definitely veered a little off track with this chapter - I was disappointed there wasn't an Adam/Mary confrontation in the original book, so I added my own. I used Margaret (the name of the third sister) to name Ellie and Eddie's daughter. And while some of you may disagree that their relationship isn't the type to have a child before marriage, I view little Maggie as a testimony to their love._**

**_So - thanks a million! Make sure to look for more of my stories on the site, because this isn't the end of the Pig Lady! Love, TPL._**


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